


I See Fire

by SageMerlot13



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Comfort, Cullen Fluff, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMerlot13/pseuds/SageMerlot13
Summary: Cullen and the Inquisitor. Because he is precious.Truthfully a collection of drabbles and not really an overarching story yet.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. I. Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little (a lot) late to the Dragon Age party. It’s been hanging out in my Google docs for probably a couple years.  
> I picked up the game the other day and just... felt compelled to clean it up and add to it.  
> I do not re-write any scenes that happen in game, so hopefully you know the canon part of the romance. This does have mentions of addiction and violence.  
> Originally this was written with Levellan, but I changed it to Trevelyan because I just felt like it fit better and some things made for a better story.  
> You may notice some similarities with Save My Soul. I tend to play the same type of character in all my games.  
> Please excuse the poor format, I do this all with mobile and it’s a total bitch to get the indents you go away or be consistent.  
> More to follow if there’s interest.  
> Thank you

* * *

* * *

As a general rule, Cullen was a man who liked to keep to a schedule. The fact of the matter was, there were simply too many moving parts in an operation as large as the Inquisition for it to _not_ adhere to some sort of plan, some calendar. Drills on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, patrol changes on Tuesday and Friday, laundry day on Thursday and so on and such forth; not so different from his time with the Templars. Just on a much larger scale. Some days he felt a bit more like his mother had probably always felt trying to wrangle he and his siblings into some kind of order. The newer recruits always took awhile to learn the schedule was there for a reason and could be petulant about following it. 

Soon however, they would all fall into step. They always did. 

Very little in his schedule involved him personally. He had not thought to add his own agenda, since it was primarily the same as his soldiers. The main difference being that rather than the barracks or cleaning duties or partols, a bulk of his time was committed to the war room. 

He had dreaded it at first. The indecisions and the discussions and the bickering. 

It had changed when she joined them. 

Arianh was very learned, something he had always forgotten about mages. They were often very well-read, not much else to do with their time in the Circle, and she often made helpful points, gave well thought out responses and made deliberate decisions. 

She alone could not completely manage the numerous letters and reports, could not force her advisors to see eye to eye. But she provided a certain level-headed middle ground they had previously been missing. 

Today she had lingered over the war table, her arms crossed, staring down at the pieces on the board, long after Leliana and Josephine had wandered out together, heads bent in gossip as they planned for their tasks. He stayed back for a few moments as well, curious about Arianh’s lingering, pretending to finish writing up his last report. 

“Cullen.” 

He glanced up at her, responding instantly to her voice. It was strange, the way she did that to him. Even when they were passing through the crowded main hall or the training field, he could always find her easily by her voice alone, somehow able to pick it out over all the others, over any noise. It was how he had found her in the mountains, in that damn snowstorm after Haven. She had called to him, weak and raspy, but somehow he had heard her over the wind, the crunching of ice under his feet, Cassandra behind him shouting instructions to the rest of the search party. He thanked the Maker for whatever tiny miracle had made that happen. Thanked Him daily. Everytime she looked at him and smiled, everytime she had said his name since. 

In a room silent save for the rustling of his papers, the faint breeze through the trees in the open windows, their quiet breathing, he felt her saying his name in his very core. Warmth fluttering in his ribs. 

“Your worship?” He did his best to set aside his personal reaction to her, gave her his professional response. 

She smiled, but it was wry. “Please, call me Arianh. At least when we’re alone. Or even Trevelyan, like you used to.” 

“It… hardly seems proper…” He started to say, annoyed by the stutter that worked its way into his words. 

“Shall I start calling you Commander only then?” 

“No, you don’t need to- I only-” He stopped himself when he realized she was teasing him. “I will try.” 

It came out as a mutter, and he looked away. Calling her by her name seemed so personal. She was so much more than a simple mage, a noblewoman, sometimes she struck him as being more than human, seemed so beyond him… like a second coming of Andraste. 

It made it impossibly hard to deal with her… flirting… without making a fool of himself. Or at least, that was what Bull had assured him she was doing the last time Cullen had ventured into the tavern while she was there. And frankly it had made him more uncomfortable to know the Herald of Andraste was trying to charm him than it did to know Bull had spent the entire two hours he was talking to Arianh watching him squirm. 

‘Just kiss the Boss’ Bull had suggested with a slap on the back that had nearly taken Cullen off his stool. ‘Pretty sure she’ll like it, and probably ask you for more’ he had said. 

With… cruder words, of course. Something about how he could probably give Cullen advice as to where to put his tongue in “supplication” to the Herald. 

Cullen had felt downright filthy after being subjected to that conversation, and had escaped as quickly as possible when Bull started looking for a peach and yelling for Sera to help. 

It did however raise some questions. Was it even… possible? Right. Just kiss (or worse) the theoretically divinely-chosen woman who was potentially going to save half of Thedas from an ancient Magister. 

That certainly wouldn’t damn him to eternal flame. 

Arianh looked back at whatever had been occupying her attention on the war table, and he realized she had probably gotten his attention to ask a question, not send him into a spiral of his own thoughts and misgivings. 

“What is it?” He asked gently, moving a little closer to her side, trying to see what she was looking at exactly. 

“The specialists we brought in… the mages?” 

“Yes.” He gave a nod. He still had his doubts about that. He knew it was important that she gather as much power as she could, but upon reviewing the teachers Josephine had tracked down for her, something like dread had settled in his gut. 

Dangerous magic, untested, not so different from the time magic that had almost torn apart reality. Magic that crossed into Tevinter blood magic in his opinion. Magic that put her too close to harm’s way. Some of it, he knew, was from his Templar training, old fears and prejudice worming its way back into his heart. And some of it was fear for her. Dangerous magic was just as dangerous to the user, if anything harmed her… 

Cullen had advised against it, initially. But could not admit his reasoning. That he worried for her in a way that was not entirely based on their roles within the Inquisition. 

“I have made a decision,” Arianh continued, apparently oblivious to his internal turmoil. “To begin training as a Knight-Enchanter.” 

His reaction swung like a pendulum from one extreme to the other. While he whole-heartedly believed that was the least dangerous option in terms of the actual magic being used, no threat of conjuring demons or corpses, no threat of a conjured rift tearing her apart, it was still the one that put her in the front lines. 

_Lead from the front_ Commander Helaine had said, and Cullen suddenly felt ill at the thought. Of course, Arianh already went out and led her forces, heading up missions and personally confronting most of their enemies. But at least then, he had been able to take comfort in the presumption that she was doing so from safely behind Bull or Cassandra or Blackwall. 

What in the Maker’s name made her think she needed to start swinging a sword? Even if it was a magical weightless fade blade that defied the laws of physics as he understood them. Was she not already in enough danger? And it wasn’t as if the Circle taught combat to the mages, in terms of martial training she was no better than one of their raw recruits fresh off of a farm. 

He told her none of this. Cullen bit back his initial response which was undoubtedly an argument. 

“I see.” He settled on saying instead. 

“I wanted to ask a favor,” This part stumbled out in a rush, and she turned to look at him earnestly. Bright eyes, her eyes were always so bright. “Will you teach me?” 

“Teach you?” He repeated, perhaps dumbly. 

“Swordplay.” 

A snicker escaped him before he could catch it. The very fact that she called it ‘swordplay’ gave away how very little she really knew about war and the blade. It was an outdated, romanticized term. Used mostly by nobles, especially in Orlais, and even then it referred to the fencing they performed at parties, more dancing and theatrics than fighting. 

“You disapprove.” Arianh looked crushed. Completely disheartened. 

And Cullen felt like an ass. He had not meant to belittle her. 

“I can teach you to fight,” He said evenly. “But so can Helaine and Cassandra.” 

“Cassandra would break my arms…” She muttered, and this time when he grunted a laugh, she gave him an appreciative smile. “And Helaine is like the fencing instructors I had as a child.” 

Ah, no wonder she had used the term swordplay. Growing up a noble, she had probably had a few fencing lessons. He had not considered that. Primarily because, once one learned they were a mage, their lives changed forever and it had rarely occurred to him to remember that they had probably had lives before the Circle. 

“She can teach me, but knowing how to wield a sword and when to wield it… I feel they’re two different things. And I think you would be the best teacher for that. Your sword is to protect. I want mine to do the same.” 

She rested both hands on the edge of the table, her eyes focused on her hands spread across the wood. Arianh had kept her nails long when she first arrived, trimmed and polished like a proper noble. They had since been filed down, short and practical. Her hair had followed suit. It had been long when she first began to wander about Haven, twisted up in a knot or flowing free around her shoulders. One day she had taken scissors to it and started to sport a cut not unlike Cassandra’s less the braid, shrugging and saying she was tired of the rats and the dirt getting in it. 

He liked it. She had lovely cheekbones, an elegant jawline. Short hair showed both off. 

He felt compelled. He reached out and gently touched her hand. She had humbled him with her belief in him. It felt like a long time since Cullen had drawn his blade for any good cause. For anything that was not hateful or angry or deluded. The Inquisition had given him purpose, something he had long ago lost. That she saw him as a protector pleased him in a way he was not sure he would ever be able to put into words. 

And he would protect her to the best of his abilities. Even if that meant he would be teaching her to defend herself, for the times he could not be there to be her sword. 

“I will teach you.” 

She glanced at where his hand had brushed hers briefly, and smiled up at him. To his surprise, Arianh gently returned the gesture, pressing her fingers against his arm just above the vambrace, where he could feel the heat of her touch through his shirt. 

“Thank you.” Bright smile. Dazzling. He wanted her to smile like that more often. 

Added to his schedule, from that day forward, was an hour on Saturday evening where he left explicit orders to not be disturbed for any reason. Publicly, he never divulged what he wanted the time set aside for, privately, he knew it was his time alone with Arianh. Perhaps she had not meant it in a personal sense, but he found he looked forward to their training sessions each week, more so, perhaps, the chances it gave them to talk. He relished the quiet moments he had her to himself. 

***

Varric, personally, thought it was hilarious that Curly and the Lady with The Hand thought they were keeping anything secret. 

The way they were always making eyes at each other?

Something as big as the Inquisition was getting to be just meant there were more people in the grapevine, and people _talked._ The bets had long since changed from “when they would start sleeping together” to “who was in charge when they did” and part of Varric honestly hoped he never found out. 

But he would bet his next publishing deal that it wasn’t Cullen. 

They were awkward. Aveline and Donnic’s first date awkward. He hadn’t been asked to run weird gifts between the two or go along a coastline killing bandits yet, but it was no less painful to watch. 

Did Cullen honestly think anyone bought that she was going to his guard tower every other day to discuss troop movements? 

Well, maybe the movement and position of one troop in particular… ew. 

It just wasn’t an image he needed. 

And like now for example. Here they were, he, Cassandra, and Blackwall, all saddled up and ready to go meet Hawke in the Western Approach, and Cullen was pretending like he had some last minute tactical information for the Inquisitor. What he was very obviously doing however was telling her to be careful. _Very personally._

He probably thought no one could see because he was mostly hidden behind her horse, but he was standing so close they were practically whispering to each other, the Inquisitor leaning down close enough to kiss her Commander square on the lips should she so choose, and the way his hand was resting on her thigh… well. The whole thing looked a bit… unprofessional to Varric, to say the least. 

***

Arianh knew it was a bad day. Cullen missed the evening meal often, getting caught up in work, but he always at least had it brought to him. Today, she had not seen anyone taking a tray through the rotunda and out to the half-repaired guard tower. 

She wondered what he would think, knowing how often she kept an eye on his quarters from her own. 

Often enough, she caught glimpses of him looking up towards the windows. Watching over her the same way she did him, she would guess. 

When half an hour after dinner had passed and still she saw no one venturing out to the Commander, she felt the need to at least make sure he ate. 

She made her way purposefully down the stairs, taking with her a jug of tea from her quarters. Dorian always made fun of her for her medicinal brews, often citing that if wine didn’t cure it no beverage would. He always seemed grateful when she offered him her spiced blend to soothe his stomach the morning after too much of the aforementioned wine however.

Herbal medicine had always been an area of interest for her, she loved the garden they had added into Skyhold, though a good number of the plants ended up in pots in her room so she could study them in her spare time. 

Even Solas had expressed praise for her teas, often commenting he could tell she had studied Elvhen herbal lore. 

What she was bringing to Cullen was a calming sort. The poor man always seemed stressed or disturbed about something, and she wanted to help. 

On her way through the main hall, Arianh plucked up a plate of leftover meat and cheese, and a small loaf of bread. Varric and Solas both gave her a look as she passed, Varric’s one of minor amusement but quickly turned back to his writing in the light of the fire he had for all intents and purposes claimed as his own. Solas’ was more of neutrality, and he gave a slight nod as she passed him. 

While in general she knew that her inner circle was probably aware of the change in her relationship with Cullen, it had not been a thing ever discussed in detail. So far it was mostly just a thing Bull, Sera, and Dorian teased good-naturedly about after too many drinks at the tavern, and everyone else had quietly accepted. 

She was grateful for that, especially since Cullen had wanted to keep it at least somewhat private. The only person he had told was Cassandra, and that had not exactly been willing. He had told her only out of necessity, feeling that their affection for one another was only further clouding his judgement, in those days after Adamant. Those days when old hurts and ghosts had almost eaten him away, and she had seen for the first time how much pain he was truly in. He had recovered after some rest, a few days where she had ordered no one to bother him and she and Cassandra would be handling his duties, but she could sense he was still haunted. 

Partly by the past itself, and partly because he regretted she had seen him in such a state. 

Cullen said nothing, but she knew he felt ashamed. He had refused her calling a healer, had refused her offer of magic to ease the pain. He had refused to look at her and asked her to leave him be with his suffering until he found some control again. Her heart had broken for him. For the pain he had been made to endure, and what it was still doing to him now as he tried to break the cycle. 

Break the leash still tight on his throat. 

Cassandra was right, she had never thought of the suffering of Templars, not until she had learned to care about one. To see him as more than her old jailers. To see him as not only human, but one she had come to treasure. And now she couldn’t bear to let him suffer alone. 

Despite her wish to stay with him, Arianh agreed to go, give Cullen the time he asked for. She asked Cassandra privately to write if anything changed while she made a quick journey to the Fallow Mire on a rescue mission for missing soldiers. 

Cullen had asked to see her when she returned, met her on the battlements not far from where they usually snuck away for kisses. He finally seemed himself again. He promised her he would be more careful, but admitted it would be a long road yet. She was the first person he had told the truth. About his time before Kirkwall. 

She knew it was a promise he had made for her sake, not his own, but it relieved her all the same. He had seemed surprised when she said nothing had changed between them. 

Arianh felt she should be the one surprised. To have that haunting you… how could he look at her and not hate her? Or at least her magic? 

The breeze was chill on the bridge outside of the main hall, and she knew Cullen’s tower would likewise be colder than her own. She had tried to persuade him on numerous occasions to move into the main building, or at least finish the roof repairs, but taking care of himself was always painfully low on Cullen’s list of priorities. 

He was at his desk, hunched with his head resting in his hands. Worry spiked through her. Had he pushed himself too hard again? Gone too many nights without sleep? 

Cullen glanced up at the sound of his door, immediately trying to regain his composure. He relaxed when he saw it was her and that she was alone. 

“Arianh?” 

“You missed dinner.” She held up her offerings. 

“Oh.” He looked over his shoulder through the thin arrow slots that served as windows, then at the candle on his desk which was burned to a stub, confirming that he had in fact lost track of time. “Sorry I… surely you have more important things to attend to.” 

She frowned slightly, as she always did when he expressed that particular sentiment. The Inquisition was important to her, and as long as the war was on, it would always come first. This did not mean, however, that they couldn’t steal a few moments for themselves. 

“Making sure my Commander doesn’t starve is important.” 

She used his title when she was teasing him or when she was peeved, and she could tell by the quick shot of color to his cheeks, he knew which it was right now. 

“I only meant I’m sorry to trouble you.” 

“It’s no trouble.” She brought the plate of food to the edge of his desk, careful not to set it on any papers, and found a reasonably clean looking cup on a corner. Cullen rarely drank alcohol as far she had seen, but he had a knack for accumulating glasses around his office. Probably because he forgot about them as soon as he set them down. She poured him a healthy serving of tea and placed it directly into his hand. 

“Drink that. It will help with the headache.” 

“I don’t-” He started to deny, but apparently thought better of it midway through. “It’s only a minor one. It will pass.” 

She doubted that, based on the way he had been holding his head a moment ago. Arianh knew a good deal of it was probably because they would soon be venturing to the Winter Palace. He had made his distaste for most things Orlesian quite clear, and the idea of going into the belly of that beast -and letting her potentially fight a highly trained assassin- was clearly perturbing him. 

He had kept his promise since Adamant however. There were days where she could see twinges of hurt when he moved, days with shadows under his eyes, or the worry line between his brows pinched with pain, but so far he had not had another bout like that one. He trusted his direct subordinates with more of his work when he felt himself stretching too thin, she noticed that the lights in his tower had started to go out at more reasonable hours, and she actually saw him fairly often playing cards with Varric or chess with Dorian. 

And their occasional absconding out to the battlements had started to get noticeably more frequent and increasingly… intimate. Sometimes he would seek her out, a new development, making an excuse that he needed her opinion on a troop movement or something of that nature and then pouncing on her the moment they found a secluded alcove. 

Two days ago had been a particularly… exciting kiss. 

For a moment, she had not been entirely certain it would remain only a kiss, and the thought had utterly thrilled her. They had made some excuse to go to the garden together, she could not remember what exactly they had said now, and then at almost the same moment they had veered off the path into a secluded, overgrown corner where the roses and Arbor Blessing had not been trimmed back in what looked like years, sheltering them from any prying eyes. 

Cullen had pressed her into the wall, gentle as he ever was, but with enough firmness that it surprised her. Arianh clung to him desperately, felt a needy little whine low in her throat when he kissed her, when his tongue probed against her lips. One hand had tangled in the back of his hair and the other had a handful of his mantle, pulling it halfway off one of his shoulders, her stomach alive with a bubbling heat of need. His hands had ventured under her shirt, only a few centimeters at first, but when she had arched happily into his touch he continued until her clothes were bunched under her arms and he could explore most of her torso. 

She thrilled at his touch, even through his gloves, and could only desperately imagine what it would feel like to have his bare fingers on her. 

If she asked him to meet her in her quarters? Would he agree? Would they break that last barrier? 

His knee gently worked between hers, up slightly, and Arianh broke the kiss to let out a sharp gasp at the new contact with a jolt. Cullen must have misinterpreted, perhaps thought she had scraped her exposed skin on the rough stone, she couldn’t say now. But whatever had possessed him to so boldly touch her had seemed to fade. He had blushed vibrantly, but thankfully not apologized as he very carefully extracted himself from her, straightening first Arianh’s clothes and then his own. His gaze had darted around her face, and Arianh was still unsure what he had been looking for in her expression. He had opened his mouth as if to ask her something, but after a moment had just smiled and shook his head. 

“Not now,” He said, and had kissed her once more, soft and chaste. There had been something… sad in his eyes. 

It was why, despite the way heat unfurled in her stomach everytime she was near him now, Arianh did not attempt to pursue anything beyond a simple kiss. Something troubled him, and a part of her feared to ask what it was. 

It did not, however, affect the fact that she cared about him very deeply. 

Cullen drank his tea without argument, smiling a little bit, probably when he tasted the honey in it. The times she had seen him drink, he seemed to lean towards sweet white wines or mead. She always made sure to add a healthy dollop to anything she made for him. 

“Thank you,” He told her honestly. “But I’m alright, I promise. It was just a… long afternoon. These are the final plans to get agents into the Winter Palace with you.” He started to turn the papers to where she could read them, but she chose instead to circle to stand beside his chair, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder when she leaned over his desk. She felt tension in the muscle under her hand, but none of the telltale shaking that meant it was Lyrium related. He still wore his armor for his day to day activities, but she had found that he did in fact wear a simple tunic and trousers after a certain point in the evening as he was now. 

How he stayed warm, she would never know, but she liked being able to catch him dressed down from time to time. 

She also liked this new aspect of him discussing plans and strategy with her. As Inquisitor she always had the final say, of course, but he had started to include her more and more in the actual planning process. She saw it as a sign of his faith in her abilities. 

“You’re going to come into the Palace with me?” She questioned. Based on what she knew of Cullen’s thoughts on Orlais and their parties, she would have expected him to resist ever personally setting foot within eyesight of the courtyard, let alone plan to go to the Ball. 

“Josephine managed to secure seven invitations. I had thought it best Leliana and I at least accompany you. You can focus on the assassin and we could organize any necessary troop movements. I would also recommend bringing Josephine, I’ll be useless if it comes to talking to any of these… people.” He gestured vaguely at an Orlesian seal on a different paper on his desk. And also, she noticed happily, helped himself to a couple of bites of cheese. “It’s up to you of course. It might also be best served to bring Sera and Bull and simply let them run roughshod over the whole damned-”

Unable to help herself, Arianh laughed at his bluntness. “If it bothers you that much Cullen, please don’t force yourself to go.” 

He was quiet for a moment. “I should be there.” 

There was something like that look he had worn in the garden in his eyes again. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but Cullen moved on before she could voice it. 

“What do you think?” He tapped the plan he had written out to return her attention to it. 

“I think you’re right. You and Leliana and Josephine. I may be nobility, but I spent all the years I would have learned how to handle politics locked in the Circle. I won’t be much better at talking to them. Then probably Cassandra. She’ll hate it too, but her title gives us more clout. Or Vivienne, this stuff is old hat to her. She might say no though in case I embarrass her. Cole’s stealth is going to be useful, but we’ll want to keep him away from the guests as much as possible until we need to act. And I do actually want Bull with me. He’s going to be hard to explain, but he is a Ben-Hassrath after all. I find he makes very useful observations when it comes to people. If anyone can find an assassin it’ll probably be him or Cole.” 

Cullen turned his head enough to look at her with a bit of a raised eyebrow. She shrugged. 

“I’m beginning to wonder if you need me at all for strategy at this point,” he mused, topping off his cup with more tea and now taking a bite of the cold chicken. 

“I need you with me regardless,” she said, ducking her head low enough to press a kiss to his temple. Cullen went quiet again, and she assumed it meant he had more to think about for the evening. Content that he at least had food nearby now, she decided maybe it was best to get back to her own assignment. 

Practicing dancing, per Josephine’s strict orders. 

She made it only a few steps away before Cullen stood abruptly, catching her wrist gently. The heat of his touch sent a pleasant shiver up her arm, down her spine. It wasn’t often she visited him and he was not in full regalia, gloves and all. His palm was rough, scarred and calloused, but his touch was soft, almost… delicate. She could have easily pulled out of his grip if she had wanted, but she had no reason to want to. 

That same heat smoldered just under her ribs. Some girlish part of her hoped he would ask her to stay the night. 

“Arianh…” he started, and then stopped, shaking his head. More to himself than her, she would guess. After a moment of his thumb tracing a gentle pattern against her pulse he started again. His voice barely above a whisper. “Please know that no matter what, I’m with you. However you need me to be. I trust in you. I trust _you._ And please… please be careful. In a place like Halamshiral an assassin may not be the only threat to you.” 

She was not sure how to answer. But she suddenly felt selfish for hoping for more intimacy when he had so much on his mind already. This was enough. She knew how much he cared, and it was enough. 

Arianh smiled, leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. That sad look. When had his eyes started to seem so sad all the time? 

“You’ll be there to protect me,” she reminded him, smiling, hoping to reassure him. “But I’ll be careful all the same.” 

***

She awoke because she was cold. Freezing, in fact. 

He may have heaped the blankets over her before he left, but the mountain chill was a powerful thing. 

It occurred suddenly to Arianh how spoiled she had always truly been. In her own quarters high atop a different tower, there was always a fire. One she never had to tend to. Even back in the Circle, the building itself had always been comfortable. No doubt, like here, maintained by numerous nameless servants. 

Arianh made a mental note to make sure that she caught the girls always going in and out of her chambers, taking care of her day to day needs,to learn their names and thank them personally. She knew it would do little in the way of improving their lives, per say, but she felt that at the very least they ought to be acknowledged for all their hard -and essential- work. She might be the figurehead of the Inquisition, but they were the linchpins holding the whole damn thing together. 

The other reason for the chill was no doubt because the bed was lacking Cullen’s impressive body heat. He always told her how warm her hands felt, and sometimes she wondered if he was simply perpetually feverish since he stopped taking lyrium. He felt like a furnace against her back, it was hard to imagine he felt any warmth from her in return. 

A glance upward at one of the many poor patches in the roof told her that it was nowhere near morning, but something had driven him up and from bed. Glancing over at the ladder from the loft, she could see the lamp burning downstairs. Working. He was always working. 

She had thought he was sleeping more regularly. But maybe now he just worked sporadically through the night instead of constantly. 

Arianh went digging for her clothes, found he had gathered them for her at the end of the bed. His thoughtfulness always surprised her. As busy as he always was, he always made time for her, to care for her. 

Even dressed except for her boots, Arianh dragged a blanket up around her shoulders and held it awkwardly as she descended the ladder to join him. 

“Did I wake you?” Cullen asked softly. 

“Got cold.” She smiled, crossed the floor to stand by his desk. He moved a stack of papers and a map on the corner just to his right aside, and she supposed that was an invitation to sit there. 

She accepted, dragging the blanket tight. Seeing him like this, golden hair slightly mussed so the natural curl showed, candle flame shining in the natural highlights, she was beginning to see why people had started calling him The Lion of the Inquisition. The way he was all blonde hair and fierce strength. The fur mantle on his usual garb only added to the image, and then there were the days he let his beard grow in a little bit. Adding to his mane. 

It had always made her smile because she imagined he would hate the nickname if anyone ever called him that to his face. He was Ferelden. He disliked cats on principle. 

Arianh reached across the few inches separating them, absently fiddling with a particularly stubborn flourish of hair at his temple. 

“This must be why Varric calls you Curly.” 

Cullen sighed in response. “He has an obnoxious habit of being around when you don’t want him. Like when you just get out of the bath.” 

“So it gets curlier?” 

“Yes.” Another sigh, and she would guess he had been forced to have this conversation at least once before, but his eyes drifted closed and he leaned into her gentle touches like he was rather enjoying the attention. 

“Did you sleep at all?” She asked after a moment. 

“Some.” Was his evasive answer. 

“I don’t know how you sleep at all. It’s so cold. Now I’m going to worry about you losing your toes to frostbite.” 

He opened his eyes to give her a little half smile. “I’ve slept in worse places. And even in better places, never with such a beautiful woman.” A brief pause. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened like he had just had some sort of revelation. “Oh, Maker. Arianh, I’m so sorry.” 

Stunned, she dropped her hand to stare at him. “What in the world for?” 

_Please please let him not regret sleeping with a mage…_

“I should have… we should have…” he stood so quickly his knees hit the chair and it skidded back a few inches. His hands framed her face, as gentle and warm as they had been last night. “You deserved better. Deserve. Not the desk. Oh Maker’s Breath, the desk, why would you let me… Not here. We should have gone to your-”

“Cullen!” She raised her voice only enough to interrupt his ramble, wrapping her fingers around his wrists tenderly, feeling the way his pulse beat under his skin. He was genuinely panicking. It was sweet, but also a little… sad. That he thought so little of himself. “Cullen, last night was perfect. Exactly what I wanted.”

All she had wanted was him. And he had given her all of him, freely, willingly, lovingly. 

It had been a little clumsy and unsure at first, as neither of them could claim to be particularly experienced. As a mage in the Circle, sexual encounters were limited to teenage-like groping in the library before the Templars caught you. Cullen, by his own admission, had not wanted anyone romantically in his life in a long time. 

Together they had learned, she had mapped his body with her hands, then again with her mouth, committing everything about him to memory. Learning the places that made him shudder, the scars that made him wince with old, remembered pain. Or maybe it was the magic in her fingertips. He was generous, gentle, loved her with the kind of devotion she thought was reserved for religious worship. Arianh had felt half-divine by the time they had finally climbed into the loft and collapsed in his bed. And it had begun all over again when his lips had gently touched her breast in the dark and needy hunger had her straddling his waist. 

“O-oh.” He looked embarrassed, but also a little pleased. “Thank you.” 

“And you?” 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt better.” His hands dropped from her face, settled instead on her hips, tracing the curves that were undoubtedly very familiar to him now. He was smiling, a sort of dreamy, content look. She very much liked him with that expression on his face. She had been a little worried he would be… well, disappointed in a way. It had become readily apparent that Cullen was as happy and satisfied as she was. 

“Good.” She smiled, nuzzled her head against his shoulder, arms around his waist. For a moment they stayed, locked in the embrace, reveling in an afterglow that still lingered. “Will you come back to bed for a little while? The sun’s not even going to be up for hours.” 

He hummed in her ear, something between a laugh and an assent. “Let me finish this and I’ll join you. Alright?” 

He punctuated the question with a kiss against the shell of her ear. 

“I’ll wait right here.” The time he chuckled outright, because they both knew if she did not, he would get all caught up in some report until morning. 

“Fair.” Cullen disengaged from her gently, let her catch him in a brief kiss, and glanced at her every few moments with a little smile while he finished whatever it was he felt compelled to work on. 

True to his word, he only read over and signed a few sheets, packed them neatly in a leather folio, and set it aside to be picked up by one of the runners in the morning. Once done he put out the lights on his desk, taking her hand lightly and leading her back to the ladder. 

Dark as it was, he obviously knew his office by heart, guiding her hand directly to the step at eye level. She felt his warmth on her back as soon as they were both on the loft, fingers gently undoing the buttons of her shirt, sliding it down her arms, the buttons of her trousers. Peeling away the layers, until she was naked and vulnerable. 

Only Arianh did not feel vulnerable with Cullen. She was safe and cared for and… human. Something she felt less and less lately. Between the Anchor and everything under her care as Inquisitor… moments with Cullen were sometimes the only time she felt like herself. Like Arianh, not Herald, not Worship, not Inquisitor. He was often the only person who still called her by her first name. 

Also, somehow, stronger for what she felt with him. Corypheus? Let him come. Arianh would kill him twenty times over if it meant having more nights like this with Cullen. 

He left his clothes in a heap with hers, nudged her into bed first, then climbed in beside her, the heat of his chest against her shoulder when he slid an arm under her head, his body flush to hers and warming her instantly. 

“Arianh… I… never mind. Try and get some rest. I’ll try not to wake you again.” 

She had not missed his poignant pause, but for now, she chose not to push it. Cullen had always been open with her, when he was truly ready. 

“As long as you’re here, I’ll sleep.” She promised instead, turned her head enough for one more lingering kiss. 

It was only another couple hours before his nightmares began to haunt him -probably tired from their exertions, she thought somewhat guiltily- but it felt like the best sleep Arianh had gotten in her life.

*** 

It was eating him away. 

Cullen had always known to steer clear of red lyrium, after watching what it had done to Meredith… he dare not go near it. 

Arianh had gone after Samson. To cut the head off the Red Templars. He knew the risk he took going near it, but he… he could not let her face that danger alone. It went against every instinct he had. To let his lover face down his demons? And he not even there to shield her? Cullen would not stand for it. 

So he had insisted he join her in Orlais, persisted until she relented against her better judgement. And realistically his better judgement as well. 

They had been training together for months, once a week, twice if they could find the time, but they had not truly fought side by side since the Temple of Sacred Ashes, so long ago, that day when he had not even known her name. That day when she had been a terrified, wide-eyed prisoner who had never even willingly used a fireball against a living target before. And suddenly she had been bravely facing down demons with complete strangers. 

It was almost like a dance now, the way they had learned one another’s movements and blind spots. He guarded her flank while her Spirit Blade cut holes in their opposition, her barrier spells covered him when it was his turn to lead, her staff raining fire when they were both forced to take cover. 

Maker, she had grown. A force unto herself. 

He was both proud and daunted by her command of a battlefield. 

They almost hadn’t needed the other three along with them. 

There had been no Samson. Only Maddox. A vain effort to save him. A hunt carried on. 

And Cullen was paying for it now. 

A thirst so powerful it was pain slithered down his spine, clawed its way back up when he succeeded in ignoring it the first time. The second time. The seventh time. The twentieth time. 

He had seen what red lyrium had done to Meredith, to the Templars of Kirkwall, and they had still been taking regular lyrium. 

Three glasses of water later. His throat ached. Everything ached. His gaze narrowed, red edged his vision. 

It burned, it burned, it burned. 

Ants under his skin, fire in his veins, behind his eyes. 

Before, the pain had been a little hum in his ears, there, but easily ignored. Now it was Chantry bells ringing inside his skull. 

He had known better than to go near red lyrium. 

They had spoken briefly after the shrine, but Arianh was gone again. The one place he usually found solace. Focus. 

Saving innocent lives no doubt, building the Inquisition. He could not call for her. Take her away selfishly from their cause. Could not burden her further with… this. 

The lyrium stores for the Templars who had joined them were housed deep in the Armory, under lock and key. No one questioned the Commander of the Inquisition passing through the guard. Even if he was an ex-Templar. Even if they could see the part of him breaking away. 

When did he get here? He didn’t remember. How long had he been here? Did it matter? 

Just a little. Surely just a little, and the red would go away. 

Drowned in blue. 

_No._

He had promised himself. 

Promised _her._

No more. 

But what good was he, like this? Half-crippled by the need, consumed by thoughts and nightmares. Surely Arianh would understand. He was doing it for her. She had to understand. 

What were the words? The damn words… 

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt, and do not falter-_

It burned, it burned, it burned. 

It burned…. 

“Cullen!” 

He did not know when she had gotten back. How she knew where he was. 

Only that he had an ampoule of the hated poison in his hand when Arianh found him. 

It shattered against the wall, he threw it away like it had truly burned him. 

She was at his side in an instant, hands on his face, against his chest. So warm. Like fire. 

He had not realized how clammy his skin had become. Not burning. He was freezing. 

Had Cassandra been watching him? Sent her to pull him back from the brink because he couldn’t do it himself? 

“Cullen.” Her voice was earnest, desperate. “Cullen, did you take any?” 

“No.” The denial almost choked him, and he was not certain if it was because she had caught him before he had, or because he had almost given in to the urge. 

He crumpled. His legs gave out. Kinloch Hold had broken him, this moment shattered him completely. Pain and hate and thirst twisted inside him like knives buried deep. Threatened to consume him from the inside out. Control like sand slipping through his fingers. 

What was left of him? What was left?

Arianh fell with him, her arms tight around his chest and Cullen knew she could feel the tremors, the way his heart was pounding. The beat sounded like a drum inside his head. She pressed her face against his shoulder, held him tight. 

How could she stand to look at him? Touch him? 

“Cullen, please.” Her voice shook. He felt the heat of tears. His in his own eyes, hers where they fell against his chilled skin. “Please. If you need it, take it. Please.” 

Words burned in his throat like bile. There was nothing else in him to vomit up. There hadn’t been for days. He swallowed. 

“I don’t… Maker, I don’t want to need it anymore.” 

Even if he had the strength of will to fight his tears, it didn’t matter any longer. 

What was left of him? 

Arianh held him tighter, held him together. Cullen wanted to cling to her. Wanted to push her away before he dragged her down with him. 

Meredith had been a monster. Samson was a monster. How different was he? 

All the months he had resisted, endured. And this was all it had taken to send him spiraling into the abyss. For the lyrium leash to crawl back inside him; a hellish snake killing him piece by piece. 

She was saying something. He couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t piece it together. Nothing over the pounding of his heart in his ears, nothing over the nightmares calling his name. The thirst gnawed at his mind with demon-like fangs. 

“I need to leave.” 

Cullen did not care where. Anywhere away from here and the damn call of the lyrium. Where he could smell the dose that had shattered against the wall. Sickly sweet, burning and acrid. Familiar. All too familiar. 

“Of course. Of course-” Arianh was in motion at once, a hand swiped under her eyes, dragged away her tears. She turned to the door. “Clear the way to my room. Now.” 

The command was an authoritative bark. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cullen had the capacity to be amused. She had always made a point of speaking kindly. It was strange to hear anything harsh in her voice. Gentle again, she kneeled beside him, her hands on his shoulders. “Cullen, love, can you stand? Walk?” 

“Yes.” That much at least he could do for her. Would do. 

Just a matter of one foot in front of the other. Getting his feet underneath him. 

Cullen stumbled, his legs forgetting what they were meant to do. Protesting. Everything hurt. Arianh gripped his arm, held tight as they moved. 

The first steps were torture. The first days he had stopped taking lyrium all over again. It got easier the further away he went, but he was glad for Arianh’s steadying hold. 

The journey to her rooms felt like a campaign march. Like it lasted days. 

He could breathe by the time they reached the top of her stairs, his heart felt normal. The screaming fire of the lyrium back to a low steady burn on the edge of his consciousness. 

They were alone, she had bolted the door. 

A sick, raw sensation made its home in Cullen’s chest. Humiliation. 

How easily he had fallen apart. He had almost given in. Broken the promise he had made to her. To himself. 

Her hands were gentle against his neck, pulling his mantle away. She struggled with the buckles and clasps on his armor. He had only shown her how to take it off once. After that he had always removed it before going to see her. 

She must be disgusted. Utterly appalled. After Adamant had been one thing. He had been able to regain control of himself. This time he had been too weak to stop himself. 

She had done it for him. 

“Arianh, I… forgive me. Please forgive me… I’m so sorry…” 

“Shh. It’s alright.” Her voice was soft. So soft. A caress after the cacophony of the lyrium. Her hands found his, and he felt how badly his were shaking. He could scarcely hold hers. She guided him to the edge of the bed, pushed gently until he sat. Or maybe it was closer to a collapse. “It’s alright,” She soothed again, her fingers finally fighting the cuirass of his armor open. 

“You shouldn’t have had to… I should have-”

“Cullen, please. You’re what's most important to me right now. Whatever you need from me to help you.” 

“You can’t- You. Any of it.” He shook his head, words not forming. Making sense. 

Arianh turned her attention from removing his arm guards, held his jaw to meet her gaze. “You have me. Always.” 

He tried to force something out. Thank her. Anything. 

She smiled at him, seemed to understand. But her eyes were so sad. Her palm brushed his forehead. “Your skin is so cold…” 

She had him out of his armor, shuffled him out of his boots. Slid his sword belt off his waist. Pressed his shoulders until his head hit the pillow. It smelled of her rosemary soap and lavender incense. 

Beneath that, a faint hint of sex. The last time they had slept in this bed together. Days ago? A week?

He dare not think of such things now. 

She sat beside him on the mattress, her hand gently stroking his hair. “Do you want me to get a healer?” 

“No.” The thought of anyone else seeing him like this made his insides contort even worse. And he did not wish to further embarrass her. “No healer. No lyrium. No magic.” 

He deserved whatever pain came of it. However long it took him to claw his way back to some semblance of control. 

Cassandra would have to reconsider his replacement after _this._

“Can I stay with you?” She questioned softly. “Or I can go if you want to be alone.” 

Why would she want to…? But Cullen knew why. And he was grateful for it, for her. The last thread keeping him anchored to sanity. 

“Please. Stay.” 

She nodded in acquiescence, tucked her heavy duvet up around his neck, and went to a pitcher on her desk. He had half expected medicine or tea, maybe wine to try and force him to sleep, but it was just water. 

“Try to drink a little of this. Cassandra said you haven’t been to the dining hall in three days.” 

So, she had been watching him. Part of him wanted to be angry at her, for taking it to Arianh instead of dealing with it as they had agreed before. And another part understood and was grateful. 

The water didn’t taste right. Seemed to do nothing for his parched throat. He could only force down a couple sips, and hoped it stayed down. 

She set it on a dresser by the bed, and then slid into the sheets beside him. When he moved closer instinctively, she wrapped her arms around him, cuddling his head near her heart. 

“This isn’t all your fault, Cullen.” She said after a moment, perhaps sensing he wouldn’t be falling asleep easily anytime soon. “The red lyrium affects everyone. I’m afraid you may be… at a bit of a disadvantage though.” 

“I was a fool. I should have listened to you.” His words were slightly muffled into her shirt. 

“I thought it was very brave.” She pressed her chin gently to the top of his head. “To want to face him head on.” 

Like looking his personal worst nightmare in the face. The very worst of what he could have become. What he obviously still had not fully escaped. 

“Would you have taken it?” She asked then, barely even a whisper. 

“I… don’t know.” There was no sense in lying to her. And truly, Cullen couldn’t say now. 

Arianh went quiet again for a little while, and he feared her disappointment. 

“I believe you would have stopped,” She said suddenly, with absolute certainty. “I know… what I said back there was… I was just afraid. I was so afraid for you when that raven came. But I believe you would have stopped. You’ve survived so much, and you will survive this. I know it.” 

A scoff full of self-loathing escaped him. “I pray you’re right.” 

“You’re one of the best men I know, Cullen. The strongest. And I love and respect you for it.” 

As much as he wanted to ask why, still, she could say such a thing, he decided against it. He wanted to be as good a man as she believed. He would be worthy of her. 

Because he loved her more than anything else in the world. 

He didn’t sleep peacefully, but then, Cullen very rarely did. He tossed and he turned, tangled himself up in the blankets, muttering on occasion. 

Arianh was not sure if it would be better to wake him from the dreams or let him get some semblance of rest he obviously needed. He slept through the afternoon and into the next morning, and Arianh left the bed herself to scrounge up some breakfast for them. 

He so rarely stayed long enough to have breakfast with her. There were always last night's guard reports to go over, training to oversee, a morning meeting with Josephine regarding supplies getting out to their smaller claimed keeps. Of course, Arianh’s schedule was no better. Today, she knew, her other advisors would be covering for them. At the very least, she supposed she could get through the neglected mail on her desk while she waited for Cullen to wake up. 

Leliana and her spies went through most of the letters sent to “The Inquisitor'' and tossed most of them out as simple fan mail, but at least fifty turned up on her desk every few days. Requests for aid, offers of assistance, she thought of a particularly flowery one that ended up being a marriage proposal from a woman in Orlais that Leliana had to have left in as a joke. 

Mostly because the proposal wasn’t even for Arianh, it was a request that “The most divine and righteous Lady of the Inquisition” relieve Commander Cullen of his duties and send him back to Orlais immediately to be wed, as she simply could not live without him. There had also been a tidy sum offered in future donations in the event Arianh agreed to sell him off. 

She had been meaning to let him read that one. Just to watch the way his lip would curl in utter horror. And then maybe she would have teased him a little bit, pretending she and Leliana were indeed thinking of offering his hand to perfect strangers in order to secure the Inquisition more alliances. 

He wouldn’t have believed her, of course, he knew better, but he probably still would have played along with her and demanded they at least offer him to Ferelden. 

Now was not the time for such whimsy, and she tossed the letter into the brazier keeping the desk corner warm. A heavy sigh from her bed told her that Cullen was waking up and she glanced up just in time to see him sit up with a jolt, eyes roaming around the room.

Clearly some of yesterday was a blur for him. 

Gaze landed on her, and she smiled, standing from the chair at the desk. 

“Morning. How are you feeling?” 

“I…” he held his hand to his head, and she could almost see him slowly crumbling as the memories started to filter back. “I don’t know,” He finally said, but his face said he knew exactly how he felt and simply didn’t want to worry her. 

Arianh sat on the edge of the bed, rested her hand on his knee. “Think you can eat a little?” 

“I don’t know if it will stay down…”

“Maybe some water? Tea?” 

“Tea. Please.” 

“I’ll make you some.” She squeezed his knee gently, stood to make a kettle of the hangover tea she usually saved for Dorian. It would settle his stomach at least. She had requested something bland from the kitchen, and ended up with some boiled oats. The bowl she sat beside the bed for now on the side table. “When you’re ready.” 

“Arianh… I… I swear to you this will never happen again.”

She sat on the edge of the bed again. “I know this isn’t easy on you. I just want to help if I can.” 

Cullen sighed and leaned back on the headboard. “After this… I have much more respect for mages who make it through their Harrowing.” Something must have shifted in her expression, and he glanced away. “I suppose I wouldn’t know. What… what are they like? Harrowings?” 

“You must have sat in on some, when you were a Templar.” 

“Yes. Some I… was the one assigned to kill.” 

“Did you have to?” 

A long pause. 

“Yes. I didn’t have a choice-”

“I’m not accusing you.” Arianh held up a hand. “I know I’ve said some unkind things, but I know not all Templars are killers. Some just want to do what they believe is right, like you. Just like I know not all mages can be trusted with the kind of power we can sling around. The Circle wasn’t fair to anyone; it made monsters on both sides.” 

“No. I suppose you’re right,” He said quietly. 

This was an old discussion for them. One they tried to avoid for the most part. As much as they might be a unified front now, they had very different experiences with life before the Inquisition. Almost polar opposites. It wasn’t a point of contention exactly, but it was never a very comfortable conversation.

Arianh’s eyes drifted to the window, the admittedly glorious view. Somewhere out there, the ruins of Haven rested. Where all of this has begun. “I was… really afraid of you at first.” 

“What? Why?” He sounded horrified. Arianh’s finger absently traced a pattern in the bedspread. “Arianh?” 

“The Mage Rebellion started in Kirkwall for good reason. I had heard your name a few times. Knight-Captain Cullen, Meredith’s right hand.” Cullen visibly flinched at the reminder, and she felt awful for even mentioning it, but drove on. Determined to make him see. “You had… a reputation for being like her. Cruel. I actually… I avoided you for a long time at first in Haven. The first time we were alone in the war room I thought for sure you were going to accuse me of causing the explosion, threaten to make me tranquil. But you asked me if my hand hurt because of the mark, and if it did you would take me to see Adan.” 

She glanced up at him, Cullen stared blankly back at her. “I thought you were always fidgeting because the mark hurt. I had no idea you were afraid of me. I would have said something sooner if I had-”

Arianh shook her head with a fond smile. In the early days, she might have run for the Hinterland hills if Cullen had tried to talk to her directly. Partially because, yes, he had made her incredibly paranoid initially, and partially because even back then she had thought he was very handsome and she found that very strange and overwhelming. 

Surely, she had thought to herself, there was something wrong with her if she was attracted to a Templar. Maybe she had hit her head falling out of the Fade, lost her sense as well as her memories. 

She soon knew better. 

“You were kind. I didn’t see how the things they said about you could be true. I asked Varric, and he told me you had fought with Hawke. Against Meredith. So I thought maybe I should try to learn about you myself.” 

“Not until the end. When there was no way to stop it.” 

“But the point is you did. You knew she was wrong, that it had gone too far. Changing for the better is hard, but what matters is that you choose. I didn’t know you before, but I know you’re a better man for it. And you can get past this. We will.” 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Cullen’s hands reached for hers, and she gave them happily. He kissed her fingers, lingered on the left. The Anchor. It sent a shudder down her back. She might have accepted it as part of her now, but she still didn’t like it. 

It just felt… wrong. And some days it really actually did hurt. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” She kissed the back of his hand in return, noticed that the shaking had finally stopped, his grip as steady as ever. 


	2. II. Twin Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the response, I continued.  
> This one’s more a stand alone than the previous set.

* * *

* * *

Of all the stupid ways to go out. 

In the rare times Arianh considered that being the Inquisitor might actually kill her, she had always envisioned it being quite epic, martyr-like. 

Saving a town, a violent clash with a dragon, or even Corypheus himself. 

She had never anticipated a child to be the thing to incapacitate her. 

She could almost hear Cassandra’s voice, quoting that line from the Chant that she always threw out when she felt someone was getting a little too inflated with hubris. _What Pride has wrought…_

Easy job, Bull had said. Just run a quick protection errand on the Storm Coast. Easy coin, get themselves a smuggler ally they could use in the future. Maybe get a hint on how and where red lyrium was coming from. And yes, it had been easy at first. A few fireballs, a few arrows from Sera, a few grumbles from Blackwall about helping smugglers. 

‘Shady shopkeeps’ Sera had promptly corrected, clearly having a grand time fighting pirates to protect other pirates. According to her, they always had all the good stuff and she was expecting rewards. 

They had been checking out one of the smuggler caches up in the hills from the makeshift dock, Sera gleefully rooting for treasure, and she had let out an excited whoop when she found a particularly shiny bit of silk folded in the bottom of the crate. 

The whoop had startled a kid, no more than ten, hidden in the trees nearby. He probably belonged to one of the smugglers, or maybe he was just a farm boy who had gotten caught in the mess. 

He also happened to be a very untrained mage. If she had been just a little bit faster, Arianh could have gotten a barrier up. Used her Spirit Blade to deflect a bolt of raw lightning magic coming her way. It had only barely flickered to life in her right hand, she had just dropped her staff to cast a barrier in her left, and she took a lightning bolt to the chest. 

Stupid breastplates. Stupid conductive metal. 

That must be why Bull wore a harness and not actual armor. Why Blackwall wore so much heavy leather under his. 

Untrained magic packed a real wallop. 

In the Circle they taught you to channel, control. One of the only good things they really did. This kid was straight power, chaos, and raw emotions. 

She smelled burning flesh and knew it was her own. The force knocked her back into a tree. For a moment everything went white. 

When it came back into blurry focus, she was on the ground and her chest was on fire. 

Sera had an arrow halfway back. 

“Sera, no!” Her voice came out as a croak Arianh’s hands tearing at her breastplate, the metal too hot, scorching her fingers. “Ow, shit!” 

“Little magic shit tried to kill you!” Sera protested, bow at full draw. 

“He’s a child!” Blackwall said at the same time as Arianh. He was kneeling beside her, and yanked the metal off of her with surprising efficiency. He promptly looked away, and Arianh wondered if some of her shirt had gone up in literal smoke. Or maybe it was just a really horrid looking wound. 

“It was an accident,” Arianh insisted, watching the child’s saucer-wide eyes bounce from one of them to the next. 

“He’s a little-” Sera started again, and Arianh was surprised that Bull was the one to step forward, his hand firm on the top of Sera’s bow, pushing it down until the arrowhead was pointed at the dirt. 

Bull had never much seemed a fan of mages either. 

“You heard the Boss. Let him go.” 

She stared him down for about two seconds, then almost tossed the arrow back into her quiver, grumbling about “baby demons”. 

The kid scrambled off, Arianh making a mental note to return later, because she sure wasn’t catching him in this shape. A little mageling running around untrained and unprotected could be dangerous. Red Templars were everywhere these days. She had to at least offer the protection of the Inquisition. And training. It was only a matter of time before he hurt someone if he went stormy every time he panicked. 

“Boss? You good?” Bull was looking at her with as much concern as he ever mustered. Arianh raised a hand to her chest and let out a hiss of pain. As best she could tell from her cursory exam, the lighting had struck right between her collar bones, and the metal of her armor had done the rest. She gave a very gentle pat as subtly as she could to make sure nothing had… burned off. 

Nipples appeared intact. But it was going to take a lot of magic and elfroot to get her skin back to normal. 

“I think… maybe back to Skyhold.” Blackwall suggested helpfully.

“You’re telling Cullen,” Sera said immediately, pointing at Bull. 

“I’m not telling him shit.” Bull started to reach down, presumably to get Arianh back on her feet. 

“Wait.” She waved him off for a moment, reaching for her breastplate again. 

_Please still be there. Oh Maker, what if it melted?_ Her fingers found a familiar little notch inside the armor, the coin that fit inside snugly. She breathed a sigh of relief. Still there. Still intact. A little warm, for obvious reasons. 

Harrit has given her a weird look when she requested he make her armor so that a coin could sit next to her heart inside the plate. When she had just shrugged, he had simply grunted -bless his aloof sensibilities- and did as she asked. Cullen’s good luck charm. 

Always with her when she went into battle now. 

Although it had not appeared to be working for this particular adventure. Well, she wasn’t dead. That was something at least. 

If any of her companions had anything to say about the strangeness of it, they chose not to voice it, even as she tucked the coin into her jacket pocket. They were too busy drawing lots over who was going to tell him what happened. Because they all knew the Commander was going to be… less-than-content. 

“This was your shit plan. Your fault. You tell Cully-wully,” Sera was insisting, tone accusatory towards Bull. 

Inwardly Arianh groaned. _Sera please don’t call him that in front of other people…._

She regretted more and more every day laughing the first time Sera had used that obnoxious nickname. It had only encouraged her. 

“No.” Bull said simply, easily boosting Arianh to her feet, now that she was done collecting her trinket. They left the breastplate where it lay, it was ruined anyway. Smoking and warped. He unceremoniously stuck the spigot of one of their last healing potions in her mouth, tilting it until she was forced to chug it. 

A gentle nurse, Bull was not. 

It was a welcome relief to the pain though. Maybe numbness. Arianh didn’t really care either way. 

“Really?” Blackwall had joined in again. “You’re afraid of Cullen?” 

This was mostly directed at Bull, who, to be fair, had never really seemed scared of much. 

Bull grunted. “No. I’m afraid of the part where he tells Josephine to stop paying me.” He practically carried Arianh as he started off towards the camp and horses. “But I’m pretty sure he could break my legs if he wanted to.” 

“He is going to be pretty angry…” Blackwall agreed, shaking his head somberly, like they could fully expect Cullen to chop off one of their arms for bringing her back damaged. He had thought to pick up her staff which Arianh was grateful for. She was particularly fond of its sun motif. 

“Oh Maker’s breath!” Arianh shoved at Bull until he let her stand fully on her own two feet. Her voice was still rather raspy, and she wondered if that bolt had smoked her lungs a little. “ _I’ll_ tell Cullen what happened because it was my fault standing there like an idiot without a barrier. And he can yell at me.” 

There was a pause for about three beats. She realized suddenly that she had evidently picked up one of Cullen’s expressions of exasperation. 

Bull glanced at the other two. “Sounds good to me.”

“I wasn’t telling him anyway,” Sera reminded. 

“Very reasonable,” Blackwall said at the same time. 

All agreed, the party started off again. And now that no one save Arianh had to take the brunt of Cullen’s wrath, she noticed they were much less concerned with getting her patched up. 

_Arsebiscuits._ She thought, also borrowing one of her favorites of Sera’s made up words. 

And really, the whole thing was a moot discussion. No one was going to have to _tell_ him anything, Cullen was going to take one look at her and be upset. 

“Arianh!” She wasn’t even all the way off her horse before his voice boomed across the courtyard at full volume. 

Scratch being upset. Cullen was downright livid. 

Anger was evident in every tense line of his body as he marched towards them, face fierce. 

Harding or one of Leliana’s spies must have tattled. He hadn’t even seen how bad it was yet and he had already worked himself up into quite a fury. 

“Bull’s fault!” Sera squealed immediately, scurrying off to the tavern and her rooms. 

The other two were not quite fast enough. Even though Cullen made a beeline for Arianh, presumably to check the injury, his next harsh words were directed clearly at Bull and Blackwall. 

“What. Happened.” 

“Lightning bolt,” Bull answered nonchalantly. 

“You expect me to believe Ari- the Inquisitor was struck by _lightning_?” 

_Little late to try and switch back to formal now I think, love._ Arianh thought, almost a little amused by his antics. She sincerely doubted anyone in Skyhold had not figured out they were involved in something more personal than Advisor and Inquisitor. If not, this display was probably a dead giveaway. They had bandaged her up at camp, but both his hands were on her shoulders, tight with concern. 

“Er… mage lightning.” Blackwall added. If he had expected that to calm Cullen down, he was sorely mistaken. There was a very distinct tic going off in his jaw. 

She wondered briefly if he would have been more or less mad if she had been struck by actual lightning in a freak accident.

“And no one thought that maybe they should protect the Inquisitor from-” His voice was starting to rise. 

“Cullen. _Commander_.” It had been a long time since she had called him that any form of seriousness. He stopped mid-sentence to stare at her with something like offense. “I’m in one piece. They’re my allies, not my bodyguards.” 

His jaw was set, but a little tension leaked out of his shoulders. Only a little, and his grip on her did not lessen. Flatly he looked at her. 

“Infirmary. Now.” 

The words came through gritted teeth, and as if he thought she would not go otherwise, one of his hands slipped down to her lower back and he practically herded her towards the keep. 

It was a very distinct tone of voice, usually reserved for ill-behaved recruits. Firm. Authoritative. A little growly. She found it rather arousing now that he was using it on her. 

Did healing potions make one loopy if one drank four of them in less than eight hours? She should probably ask Adan. 

The little crowd that had gathered to watch the potential row dispersed quickly, and Cullen marched Arianh all the way to the healer. 

She knew it was concern that had him acting so… agitated. But still. If he behaved this way any time she got hurt he was going to drive them both to insanity. 

Stony-faced, Cullen waited in the doorway while the healer tended to her. She couldn’t really be embarrassed, her chest was nothing he hadn’t seen before. Touched, kissed, licked, etcetera… 

It took two spells for the blisters on her skin to heal, and she assured the healer that if she needed another, Arianh was more than capable of managing now that the worst of the damage was repaired on her own. She was prescribed a salve to help the last of the pain, and the healer promptly excused herself. 

Arianh’s gaze immediately went to Cullen, still looming in the door like a mabari told to guard. 

“Cullen-”

“You could have been killed.” He interrupted her. “You’re never as cautious as you should be when it’s a mage.” 

A little flare of anger made itself known in Arianh’s chest. For all his work to accept mages, he fell back on his old beliefs a little too easily sometimes. Would he be lecturing if it was a sword wound? 

“He was a child, Cullen. A _child._ ” He said nothing in response, but his jaw worked, clearly irritated. “It was an accident. Not even a proper spell.” 

“Is that any less dangerous?” 

“It wasn’t his fault. He needs training, yes, but what would you have me do? Kill a ten-year old because he has no one to train him?” Cullen looked away, and her stomach filled with lead. “Andraste’s ass, Cullen…” 

“That’s not…” His hand was fidgeting on the back of his neck, a nervous habit. “You must understand, Arianh. Without you, the Inquisition… without you, I… you must be more careful.” 

“I’m not going to start murdering children!” Her tone was fierce, and she knew realistically that he meant well and truthfully Cullen just had trouble expressing himself, but… the words started coming before she could stop them. “So I suppose the next time I see a Templar you want me to slay them too? Templars will always be a bigger threat to me.” 

She could tell by Cullen’s stricken expression he took her meaning. “I would never hurt you.” 

But Arianh was on a roll, angry, frustrated, sad. 

“But what if it was me? Out of control? Possessed? Would you kill me?” 

This time she knew she had gone too far. She had genuinely hurt him. For the way Cullen was looking at her now, Arianh might as well have stabbed him. “Is that what you think of me? What I feel for you?” 

She didn’t answer. Could not. 

Even if she had been angry, how could she have been that cruel? At her silence, he looked away, mouth a thin line, the scar across his lip standing out starkly. 

“Cullen, I-”

“I am _not_ a Templar anymore. I want nothing to do with that life. Any of it.” He said it quietly, almost more to himself than her. He gave a brief glance back at her. “I’ll tell Leliana you’re alright.” 

“Cullen!” But he had already started down the hall, and did not answer. 

Arianh put her hand over her mouth, wishing with all her might to take back what she had said. She had to apologize. At once. 

And she wouldn’t blame him if he refused it. 

She threw herself from bed and almost trampled right over one of the healer’s assistants bringing her something for the pain. 

“Excuse me-” was her hurried apology, shuffling past after Cullen. She scrambled down the hall, up the stairs, two at a time, until she was at the top of the library tower, Leliana’s rookery. 

Cullen wasn’t there. 

Her Spymaster gave her a curious look, likely due to the fact she had very obviously run all the way up by her panting and sweat. 

“Inquisitor?” 

“Have you… have you seen Cullen? Did I miss him?”

“I haven’t seen the Commander. Last I heard of him he was looking for _you._ ” 

_Shit._ Skyhold was a big place. She tried to think of anywhere he might have gone while upset. His tower? The tavern? Where? 

She hurried back down the stairs and decided to check the tower first. 

Empty. 

Dare she ask around to see if anyone had seen him? 

_Or maybe…_ Inspiration struck, and Arianh headed out onto the battlements, down the way to the second story door into Herald’s Rest. Cole was thankfully haunting his usual corner, flitting about and presumably listening to things only he could hear. 

“Cole?” Big blue eyes blinked at her from under his mop of hair. 

“Josephine prefers honey cakes to strawberry.” Cole said in answer. 

“I need your help.” 

“Yes. I like helping. I can help.” 

“I need to find Cullen. Can you hear him? Help me find him?” 

“He’s hurting.” Cole’s eyes widened. 

“Yes. I said something awful and-”

“You made him very sad. He lost his heart.” 

While a lot of what Cole uttered was basically nonsense, he also occasionally spoke the complete truth. And his phrasing concerned her about Cullen. 

“Lost his…? I have to find him. I have to apologize. I have to make this right.” 

“He wanted to go away. I’ll show you.” 

_Go away?_ Arainh wondered, even as she followed Cole back out of the door. They were heading towards the armory, and despite her best efforts, a hint of dread settled in Arianh’s chest. But they passed the armory, and the lyrium stored within. 

“Lysette wants to love you but also hates you,” Cole said suddenly. 

“Lysette?” She remembered the name, remembered the face of the former Templar who had spent a lot of time in the training field at Haven. They had not really interacted since Haven however. Why was Cole bringing her up? But then, why did Cole bring anything up? 

“She wanted to have a place in his heart. But it’s full of you. Too full. Sometimes he can’t see anyone else. She was angry at first. Because of your magic and it wasn’t right, it wasn’t right… but it is right.” 

“You mean Cullen?” Arianh questioned, not really expecting an answer. She thought, maybe, she understood the gist of it though. Lysette had been, or was, smitten with Cullen. Which probably explained why she had always been in the field at Haven. She had been watching him. So then it was reasonable that Lysette had been less than happy to learn that she and Cullen were involved. And a former Templar being with a mage? It had probably raised her hackles. Such unions were not unheard of, but they very rarely went well or lasted. Such things were shamefully kept secrets when the Circles had still been active. 

It made Arianh wonder. As much as they loved each other, they were, objectively, different. 

And she was starting to realize that it was sometimes very obvious. 

“There’s no room. There won’t ever be room. Not with you.” 

“Cole…” She had thought to ask him more questions, but Cole came to an abrupt halt and pointed. She followed the trajectory of his skinny finger and saw that they had passed through the garden, and were at the small Chantry connected to it. 

The door stood open, and she could see Cullen, slumped on one of the pews. None of his usual proud, noble bearing. Arianh supposed she should have known. If not her rooms, when he wanted to hide this was usually where he went. 

Well, perhaps not hide. Escape. Find peace. 

Arianh turned to thank Cole, but found he was already gone. 

Giving them privacy? She would thank him later. 

Cullen watched her approach, saying nothing. An open, labeless bottle sat beside him. _Go away_ Cole had said. She had been worried Cullen would leave Skyhold, temporarily of course, but now she wondered if Cole had only meant he was trying to forget. Get away from the unpleasant memories and feelings. 

She had never seen him get drunk. Or even try to. 

“Cullen-”

“It’s blasphemy, you know. Drinking in the Chantry.” He looked away, shrugged and took a sip. Made a face. “I’ve no idea how Bull drinks this.” 

“I only wanted to try and apologize, but understand if you want me to leave. You have every right to be angry at me.” 

Cullen sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I should have-”

“No, don’t. Don’t act like it’s all your fault. What I said… I deserve your anger.” 

“I’m not angry, Arianh.” Another swig of whatever he had swiped from Bull’s stash. “You… you told me you were afraid of me once.” 

“A long time ago. Before I knew you.” Before she loved him. 

“I wonder,” He continued, like he had not heard her, “-if some part of you will always be a little frightened of me. I left the order. Gave up the abilities. Stopped taking lyrium. I tried to forget the memories and the… prejudice. But I’m still so much of what you hate. You have cause. To fear me.” 

“I’m not afraid. I love you and I trust you with my life.” She dared to sit beside him on the pew. Cullen was gripping the bottle so tightly his glove creaked when he changed his hold. “What I said was awful, and I am so… so sorry.” 

“If I could change what I was… If I could…” 

“And if I could get rid of my magic without losing the ability to feel the way I do about you…” Arianh sighed. She had never hated being a mage before. She had hated being locked up and watched and had, on occasion, been afraid the Templars would be less than benign with their power over her. But now she wished that she was just… normal. That she could be with him normally. “Mages were the cause of so much of your pain, but you can still care for me. It’s the same for you. You became a Templar for all the right reasons, Cullen. Please never doubt that.” 

He should be proud. All that he had overcome, all that he had accomplished since. And she hated that she was the cause for this doubt. 

Cullen glanced over at her, glanced up at the statue of Andraste. It had broken down over the years -though no one was quite certain how old Skyhold truly was- and her bowl of fire was noticeably absent. A few of the particularly devout followers had taken to keeping a collection of candles at the end of her stone arms as an homage. 

“I couldn’t.” He said after a moment.

“Couldn’t…?”

“Even if I had undeniable proof that you were possessed, I would never be able to hurt you. Cassandra would have to kill us both.” 

“Cullen…” 

“I swore myself to the Inquisition. And I swore myself to you. And if I had to choose between the two, I-”

“I will _never_ make you choose. I promise. I’ll be more careful from now on.” 

If she ever found herself at risk of possession, she would never lay the burden at Cullen’s feet. 

He sighed, but less heavily than he had the first time. They both knew that while she could make the promise now, the confrontation with Corypheus was looming ever closer. From Maddox’s research Dagna had created a way to cripple Samson, probably the biggest threat in the field besides the master himself. There were only two more weeks of prep work before they marched to the Arbor Wilds.

“If ever there was a Templar I was afraid of, it would be Samson. Because he’s nothing like you. You’re a good man, Cullen.” 

Cullen leaned across the space between them, until his head was resting against hers, their shoulders touching. 

“Thank you.” 

She felt she had done nothing worthy of thanks. All she had done today was hurt him. 

Wordlessly, Cullen handed her the bottle, and Arianh accepted to take a taste. 

“Ugh!” It went down like spider venom and dragon fire. Faint hint of Blood Lotus at the aftertaste. “How much of that did you drink? It’s disgusting.” 

“Hardly any,” he answered with a semi-sardonic chuckle. “Because yes, it is disgusting. And apparently I’m what Bull refers to as a lightweight anyway.” 

Ah. She was hardly surprised. Cullen was… well, tightly-wound most of the time. Indulgence was not a thing he did. 

He was all duty and perseverance. 

And love. She felt it every time they were near each other. 

“Before… before we go to the Wilds, I would like to return to the coast. For the boy.” 

He lifted his head, turned enough to give a cautious look that bordered on suspicious. “I never meant-”

“But you’re right, it isn’t safe for him to be out there. The Templars are still a threat, and where he has no control over his magic? It’s not so different from a child running with a sword.” 

“Or a trebuchet,” he muttered. A little while ago, Arianh might have taken that as an insult. It was such an absurd image however, she couldn’t help but laugh. He smiled, the tension lessened. 

“Do you think you could take some time? Come with me?” It was an obvious olive branch. An effort to find the middle ground between them again. Between mage and Templar. 

Obvious, but one Cullen happily took. 

“I’ll make the arrangements.” 

“Thank you. In the meantime, what do you say we swap this swill out for some nice wine Dorian had shipped in from Tevinter? We can spend the evening playing Wicked Grace and drinking and me winning until you’ve bet your clothes again and I get you naked.” 

He scoffed. “I believe I made an oath to never play cards with you again.” 

“With Josephine,” She reminded. 

Cullen stood, offered her his hand to help her up, as a proper gentleman. “Same difference either way.” Even after she stood, he held tight to her hand, tugged her into his arms. “And we both know you don’t need cards to get me naked.” 

He mumbled this into his ear, and it made her shiver happily. 

“Stay the night with me? Please?” She asked, because even if they had gotten past the argument enough to joke, sometimes the feelings went… deeper. She wouldn’t blame him if he wanted some time. 

Time away from her. 

“I have a few things I should finish.” Her heart sank. “Give me an hour?” 

“I’ll give you two.” Arianh smiled. 

Because she knew her lover well. 


	3. III. Ere the Sun Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of a sudden we have an actual story on our hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m noticing that I really prefer the parts from Cullen’s perspective. I enjoy writing/reading them more. I think he’s just an intriguing character in general.  
> I often thought about how the party system would work, and I figure it would kind of be like the Inquisitor just traveling with the whole inner circle as a posse for the big fights, I hope I’ve conveyed that well enough.  
> And some of this part is why Arianh is a fiery Knight-Enchanter.  
> Warnings of violence and some naughtiness.

* * *

* * *

She was exhausted. 

He could see it more and more every passing day. They were less than two days away from the march to the Arbor Wilds, and Arianh had only just gotten back from the Hissing Wastes. 

And that, after she, Solas, and Varric had gone on a mission to protect Cole, the boy now stranger and more ghostly than ever. And Blackwall, no Thom Rainier… Cullen was still unsure how he felt about that revelation. He had trusted the man. Trusted him with Arianh’s life. Part of him wondered if Rainier had revealed the truth because he believed there was no chance of success against Corypheus. Perhaps the Gallows had seemed less daunting? 

Cullen had never thought he was that sort of man, but as he had learned, he truly knew nothing about the supposed Warden at all. Perhaps that was why Arianh had used one of the Inquisition’s precious favors to have him returned. It could have just as easily been a punishment for Former-Blackwall as a mercy. 

Arianh took each as a personal duty, and as soon as the letter had come across the war table she asked scouts be deployed to set up camp in the Waste. 

Venatori activity, so close to a battle? He agreed that Corhypheus had to have been up to something, but surely, he had tried to tell her, she could let someone else investigate. She needed to be in top condition if she planned to take Corypheus’ army head on, if she planned to confront Samson and put an end to him once and for all. 

Maker forbid that demon-dragon should show up. Cullen was sick with worry and had no more capacity to add a dragon to his list of concerns. 

Arianh had gone to the Wastes regardless. Against his advice. All for a cypher. Useful, certainly, but at what cost? 

What cost? 

She had passed the cypher off to Leliana, and then for all intents and purposes had disappeared. Several messengers had passed through his guard tower, asking if he had seen her. Cassandra herself at one point. 

He had found her curled up in his bed, fast sleep, half her armor still on and her staff in bed next to her. 

Cullen told no one. He let her sleep. Cassandra clearly suspected he was lying -the constant glances at the ladder were probably not subtle- but let him get away with it. 

He knew that it was important for her to lead, to see and be seen. She inspired the Inquisition. Gave her soldiers hope. Confidence. 

Cullen was starting to feel she kept too little of it for herself. 

If anyone wanted to bother her today, they would go through him. 

Arianh still had not stirred by the time dinner came and went, by the time even the tavern went quiet. He ventured up the ladder, found that she had rolled over, but other than that there was no change. 

“Arianh?” He brushed her cheek gently, and though she stirred slightly, he couldn’t bear to wake her. 

It had been four days since he had seen her. 

It left an empty space. More than the side of the bed she always slept on, more than her hand gently resting in his under the war table when they thought (hoped) Leliana couldn’t see. 

A piece of him went missing with her. 

He took her staff and propped it in a corner, finished getting her chestplate and boots off. A sparkle caught his attention, and curiously Cullen examined the inside of the armor. 

A little notched groove, a coin fixed flush to the metal. 

She had said she would keep it. He had thought she merely humored him. 

_Oh, Arianh…._

It suddenly seemed surreal. All of it. The Inquisition, the enemy they fought, Arianh, what they shared. 

He wanted desperately to be by her side, whatever she faced. 

His place was in command of her army and this he knew. The duty she trusted him to do no matter his personal feelings. She trusted him to get as many people as possible through this alive. Everyone, it seemed, except for herself. 

Practically the eve of battle, and suddenly Cullen felt the weight of it all. He had believed in the Inquisition from the beginning, but he had never expected… 

“You look tired.” 

He hadn’t realized how long he had been standing there lost in thought, holding her armor, until Arianh’s hand brushed his. 

“Ah! Uh… I’m sorry.” He set her armor aside quickly, suddenly unsure if he had been meant to see the good luck charm. “Did I wake you?” 

“No. Sorry I kind of… took over your bed. How long was I asleep?” 

“It’s alright.” Really, it was just as much her bed these days anyway. “A few hours.” 

Arianh groaned, stretched, pressed her hands against her eyes. “Cassandra’s going to kill me. She had something she wanted to discuss with me when I got back. I should-”

His hand fell on her shoulder as she began to swing her legs out of the bed. She looked up at him curiously, and what he had wanted to say died on his tongue. 

He wasn’t the only one who mattered to her. She wasn’t the only who mattered to him. 

Cullen dropped his hand back to his side. 

“Cassandra did come by. I thought it best to let you sleep while you could.” 

She smiled. “Thank you.” For a moment Arianh hedged, clearly able to tell he had something to say. When he remained silent she finished standing, taking a few slow steps toward the ladder. “I’ll come back later if that’s if that’s alright? There was something-”

Like the first time on the battlements, Cullen was not quite sure what came over him. One moment he had been listening, and the next, he had her crushed to his chest, kissing her fiercely. 

Selfish. It was so selfish. 

Andraste could damn him in the afterlife if she saw fit. 

He had half-hoped Arianh would push him off. That one of them would regain some sense. 

She did take a few steps backward, but she did it with two fistfuls of his fur collar, dragging him with her, until her back hit a wall and he was pinning her to it. 

_Just give me tonight. That’s all I ask. Tonight with her and I will give everything else I am to the Inquisition. Tonight, and I ask no more of her. Not until this is done._

“Cullen-” his name dropped off in a whisper, his lips on her neck. Her fingers in his hair. One hand went straight to his belt. “Don’t stop. Please. I need you. Tonight I just need you.”

If he had any other doubts that this was really the best use of their time before a campaign, it flew out the hole in the roof when she mirrored his thoughts. 

Not that he believed this was the last chance he would get to be with her. Cullen had faith that they would get through this. He had to have faith, or he feared they would fall. But things were coming to a head. They did not know how long a conflict directly with Corypheus would last. They may be able to come back to Skyhold in days, or it may be weeks. The Mage Rebellion had lasted months. If this was the last time in months he was going to be able to hold Arianh, love her, he had to make the best of it. 

Tomorrow the Inquisition could come first again. 

Her leg hooked behind his knee, his hand slid up her thigh, she used it as leverage and lifted herself up, arms around his neck. 

He was nearly undone when her legs wrapped around his waist, when her teeth nibbled on his lower lip. He took her weight easily between him and the wall; she was thinner than when she had first joined the Inquisition, but she had also put on a lot of muscle. He held her with an arm under her rear, his other hand fighting with the clasps on her coat, and he heard at least one break open. This did not slow him down, and Arianh did not protest. 

His sword hit the floor with a clatter, the belt falling loose, her hand pulling open his trousers with a fair bit of familiarity. Reached inside to stroke his length and caused him to nearly drop her when she wrapped her fingers around the girth. The other had a handful of fur, pulling his mantle down his back until it was tight on his arms. Her jacket finally fell open, breasts free, his lips falling there instead. 

Her breeches. He had not thought about getting her breeches off. She seemed to realize this at the same moment, and patted his shoulder until he set her feet back on the ground. She shrugged her jacket off, the shirt beneath, wiggled her way out of tight leather pants. Cullen finished shucking the mantle, and then suddenly remembered he was still in full armor. 

“Maker’s Breath…” He muttered, unreasonably frustrated. It wasn’t nearly as complicated as his Templar armor had been, but he had never been in this sort of hurry when he was a Templar. He had never been in a situation even remotely like this as a Templar.

Probably for the better. It would have made him a not-very-good one. 

“Just leave it,” Arianh practically growled, pulling his hand away from the straps to haul him back towards the wall. 

Well. His Inquisitor had given him his marching orders. 

***

She must have fallen asleep again. Or so she assumed, since she was now woken by his fingers gently weaving between her shoulder blades as they snuggled like spoons. 

“That feels nice,” Arianh said sleepily, not even opening her eyes. 

“You seem so much stronger.” 

By which she was sure he meant muscular. He seemed to like it either way. 

“In the Circle, you were lucky if you got to go outside let alone get any exercise. Starting training with you might have been the first time I ever had a proper work out.” And it had hurt. A lot at first. He had started her with swinging around an iron bar to build muscle strength though her Spirit Blade weighed nothing to her, and it had been weeks before they properly sparred. Oh, the sparring. 

That he had _not_ been gentle for. 

“Do you ever sleep?” She asked around a small yawn. 

“Sometimes.” Cullen dropped a kiss on the back of her neck. “You make it harder.” 

“That’s the idea.” She grinned even though he couldn’t see it. 

“That wasn’t what I meant-! Ah. You’re teasing me.” He sighed, but it was at least half a chuckle, and it was good to hear him laugh considering everything looming on the horizon currently. Still, he must have felt better. Sex tended to do that though. 

The hand not wandering her back rested loosely against her stomach, and Arianh reached for it, pulled his palm to her lips. 

“As wonderful as that was, all three times, it actually wasn’t why I was waiting for you earlier.” Once still against the wall, then he had carried her to bed, finished taking his armor off (this she had thoroughly enjoyed watching) and they’d made love again. A brief rest, she had fallen asleep for a few minutes with her ear against his heart, and then she had woken him with teasing little kisses to his chest and that had been longer, slower, somehow more… meaningful. 

“Oh?” 

“I wanted to give you something.” Cullen propped himself up on an elbow when she moved to sitting. “Where’s my-? Ah, thank you.” As if anticipating what she had intended he passed her the coat he had removed earlier in the evening. 

From the left breast pocket, Arianh produced a small glass vial, barely the length of her thumb. She pressed it into Cullen’s hand, folding his fingers around it. 

She knew, the moment his eyes widened, that he knew what it was based on past experience. 

“Arianh-”

“My Phylactery. I had… I asked Leliana’s agents to retrieve it. From Ostwick” 

“I thought they were all destroyed during the rebellion.” 

Arianh drew her leg to her chest, rested her chin on her own knee. 

“It wasn't so bad everywhere.” She said after a moment. “Ostwick had a reputation for being sedate. We didn’t even fight. Nothing got destroyed at all. We all just woke up one morning and all the Templars had left. And it was so foolish…” She found herself laughing, somewhat sarcastically. “Some of us still stayed. For days. Weeks. Thinking they would come back. I was one of those. Caught in my routine. I woke up, I did my chores, I went to the library and read. I practiced healing magic, the only thing they let us openly use without direct supervision. And then it occured to me I hadn’t seen Ser Bralle in days. And like everyone else I just… wandered out. Right into the Summit. But the whole building, everything in it was just left.” 

“I can’t take this.” Almost forcibly, Cullen tried to hand it back to her. 

“I can’t trust anyone else with it. I don’t want anyone else to have it.” Her hands both wrapped around his, holding what seemed such a simple little vial of her blood. But because of what they were, or had been, it meant so much more. “So you can find me, no matter what.” 

“I can’t take this.” Cullen said again, and it was evident in his expression that he thought by accepting it, he was accepting that he may only find pieces of her after this battle. After whatever battle followed. She had never seen him look so afraid. In all the time she had known him. 

“Please. I know you don’t want any part of being a Templar anymore but…” 

Templars and Blood Mages were the only ones who had ever known how to use a Phylactery. And that irony had never been lost on Arianh. It was a piece of her. Never willingly given, but now she happily handed it over to Cullen. 

Just like the coin he had given her. Something of him from before the Inquisition, something purely personal. It was all she had to offer him that matched his significance. 

“No matter what happens. I want you to have it. Even if you don't use it.” 

The sentiment seemed to be enough. Her plea was enough. Cullen drew the vial back, close to his heart. 

“You’ll come back.” His hand on the back of her head, drawing her down until her forehead touched his. “You’ll come back to me.” 

***

Cullen had anticipated a harsh battle. He had anticipated fearing for Arianh. 

He had not expected her Phylactery around his neck under his chestplate to feel like a lead weight. 

He had not had the time to build it into the armor the way she had with his sentimental little momento. She had assured him the glass was enchanted to be shatterproof, and he had strung it on a cord the very next day around his neck. Its weight against his chest a constant reminder as they marched, as the first arrows were fired, that he was not at her side. 

The bulk of the Inquisition forces would carve her a path to the ruins, so that she and her chosen few could save as much strength as possible, not waste it fighting through Corypheus and Samson’s lackeys. This was his job to do, and he would get her there. 

Cullen had not personally taken the field since Adamant. This was no siege, but it was no less daunting. Sheer numbers, demons, Red Templars, Venatori, Darkspawn, were going to be almost as hard to break down as the fortress walls. 

Fighting demons was familiar territory for Cullen. It didn’t feel right to not step forward this time.

The Inquisition had sparse Templars, but they had tried to space them evenly throughout the lines. It had been Arianh’s suggestion, actually. To have at least one mage and one Templar per unit. To bolster the regular soldiers against demons, to protect them and dispel the Venatori. Who better to fight demons and other mages after all? 

The Red Templars were… another beast. Not factoring in his own personal brush with the red lyrium, Corypheus had altered these men and women to the point where they were only barely recognizable as human, and the damage they could do was catastrophic. 

His column had forged on ahead of the main army, trying to make a path for Arianh, and now they found themselves almost completely pinned down the twisted monsters. “Horrors” the soldiers had started to call them. 

Fitting, Cullen thought, considering the blow he had just taken very well may have broken his arm. At the very least it was going to be a bone-deep bruise. Leliana’s agents had been through first, to try and disrupt and sabotage. He shuddered to think of them meeting one of these things. The spies were quick and lightly armored, not meant for this kind of punishment. 

Even through his shield, through his armor, he felt the burn of the red. Cullen grit his teeth and forced it down, let a second swing glance off his shield and put his sword through where the liver would have been on a human. The blade sank in, but as if it were a bag of sand, not a body. The red crawled up his arm, spider-like, needling. They struggled, his sword caught on something inside, the blade twisted, and as far as he could tell it made no difference to the Horror. 

Nothing inside but the red. 

“The new god!” 

Ah. Mouth still worked, that was still human. The human part he could break. Cullen bashed the top edge of his shield into what had once been a face, heard a crunch, and finally the horror crumpled. His shoulder screamed in protest, but it still functioned. 

No time to celebrate the minor victory. There were thousands more out there. 

He felt the shade slithering up more than he saw it. Old instincts died hard. His sword wrenched free, muscles burned, the red on his blade could have been lyrium or blood. He turned to face the demons coming in as quickly as the Red Templars fell. 

Fire erupted under Cullen’s feet. His first thought was Venatori, and he stepped back to try and block as best he could. 

No lyrium meant no direct counter. 

And then he heard the cheers. 

“The Inquisitor!” 

Andraste herself could have walked onto the battlefield for all the celebration. Arianh certainly looked the part. 

Wreathed in flames, armor shining in the sun, spectral blade cutting through anything in her way. He had intended to make her a road to Corypheus, but she was slashing her own path directly to him. Cassandra was with her, Solas and Vivienne flanking Blackwall as he went for one of the hulking Red Templars who seemed to be giving the orders. An arrow and a shouted, colorful insult told him Sera was somewhere in the wings with cover fire. Though he didn’t see the others, he was sure they weren’t far behind. Morrigan hopefully among them, since she seemed to be the one with the clues. 

The Inquisitor’s appearance rallied the troops, and finally Corypheus’ forces fell back. Cullen let his shield sag to his side only when the tingling burn of the red faded. 

“Cullen.” Arianh’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he felt the warmth of a healing spell. Once, even such kind magic would have had him flinching. But this was Arianh’s and he welcomed it briefly. The Phylactery warmed against his skin with its origin so close. 

“Don’t worry about me.” He brushed her hand off gently. She needed to save her strength. There was still a lot of fight left to go. “The ruins aren’t much further. We’ve taken the camps.” 

Which, he realized, probably meant he was sending her into a nest of them since the ruins were the only place left to retreat to. Blood streaked her coat, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t hers. 

“I know, Morrigan is heading that way. I have to meet her.” 

“Go. We’ll hold them.” She wouldn’t be cornered. He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t be at her side but he would guard her back. He propped his sword in the dirt, reached for her hand, was conscious of the blood he was smearing on her glove for only a moment. “Be safe. Come back to me alive.” 

“I will.” She gripped his hand back just as tightly. The Phylactery like a bottle of lightning now. “My love.” 

Part of him thought of propriety. The rest of him didn’t care. Cullen took a step closer, pulled her into a kiss. Her free hand held tightly to the back of his neck, holding him to the kiss a moment longer than he had planned. 

“I love you.” He didn’t care who heard him. 

“Promise me I won’t lose you here.” 

“You won’t.” 

He let her go only because he knew he had no other choice. 

He picked up his sword. He fulfilled his promise. 


	4. IV. Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the random Drabble a little bit in this one. Short.  
> Extra fluffy
> 
> Ya’ll want naughty? We could do naughty.

* * *

* * *

There was an unusual lull over the activity in Skyhold. 

_Calm before the storm._ Cassandra thought, looking out over the hushed gardens from the war room window. A few days of rest, some time to study the Well and what it had done to Morrigan. For at least some of their main forces to return to Skyhold before they launched another attack. Some of them, Cassandra included, had made the journey back in a matter of seconds through that… rather uncanny mirror. 

She felt her mouth pulling back slightly in one corner. Into what Varric called her “making a disgusted noise” face. First the Fade and now a magical mirror. Cassadra would be glad for the day she got to keep her feet on the perfectly normal, non-magical ground for any duration of time. If not permanently. 

The Arbor Wilds had been about as successful as anyone had hoped. Corypheus had not gotten what he wanted, but they had not managed to kill him. The Eluvian and the Well had been claimed for the Inquisition. His general Samson was locked in their dungeon, awaiting judgement by the Inquisitor. 

The thought drew her eye to Cullen, who, though he seemed to be looking over the war table, was obviously elsewhere in his mind. Lapses in concentration were common when it came to lyrium-users, and they were always worse for those who were deprived of it for one reason or another. It had been getting more and more common for him lately. 

Cassandra suspected however that it no longer had quite so much to do with the lyrium in Cullen’s case, and a little more to do with what was honestly the worst-kept secret in the entirety of the Inquisition.

He had never been lacking in dedication or determination, but it had changed since they had come to Skyhold. The Inquisition had clearly given him a place and a goal, but Arianh was a softer touch in his life that Cassandra got the feeling he had been lacking for a long time. A chance to embrace the gentler side of Cullen that had always existed, but had so rarely been allowed. 

Between Kinloch and Kirkwall, Cassandra had been uncertain he would ever manage to feel anything kind towards mages in general. She had been genuinely surprised to learn he and the Inquisitor were involved, especially as deeply as they had been by the time Cullen told her. 

He was better for it. And so was the Inquisitor. Causes and ideals were all well and good to fight for, but a person you cared about, that you loved? That was a different sort of motivation. 

In a way, she also found it a little… romantic, she supposed. Like one of Varric’s smutty books. 

Cullen glanced up as if only just realizing she was there, and cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. 

“Sorry, did you need something?” 

“No. I was merely curious if the Inquisitor had decided what to do with Samson.” 

“She was sleeping in for a little while. To look at it with fresh eyes.” Cullen looked away, as if realizing that it had implied he had been with her for the night. Cassandra was half-tempted to roll her eyes; of course he had been. The fact that he tried to pretend it wasn't common knowledge was honestly just silly. Cullen tried to fill the space, cover the embarrassment he really ought not feel. He had been much less shy about it back in the Arbor Wilds after all. Half the army had seen the Inquisitor and Commander kiss, and the other half had certainly heard the tale by now. “Do you ever think about where you would be without the Inquisition?” 

“No. There is little point thinking about what could have been. We aren’t able to change it.” 

Cullen frowned down at something on the war table. A little regret niggled at the back of Cassandra’s brain. She might have been a little… too brash. As usual. 

“Do you?” 

“Sometimes.” He picked up a piece from the table, turning it over in his hands in a bit of a nervous fashion. Cassandra vaguely hoped that it hadn’t been an important marker. “I’m not sure I would like who I could have been.” 

Cassandra wondered. He may have left the order before they went to Corypheus -willingly or not- but she knew what had become of the Templars troubled him. After all, a few weeks more deciding whether he would join the Inquisition or not, a few more doses of lyrium, and Cullen may very well have been among them. 

“You may have left even if I hadn’t asked you.” 

“True.” Cullen moved to put the piece back, and she saw his brows knit together in a frown. He didn’t remember where he had gotten it from. “I wonder if I would have.” 

Cassandra crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Probably.” 

“Probably?” He made a face, clearly not reassured by her blase word choice. 

“The Maker has a plan. I don’t believe we would have made it this far if He had not intended us to. That is why you felt it was time to leave the Templars. Why Arianh was there to receive the mark and fell to us when she did. Perhaps He even intended to bring you two together.” 

“Er… well.” He finally just picked a spot to set the piece down, but his hand immediately went to the back of his neck instead. 

Cassandra tried to remember if he had always been this fidgety. 

It would speak of a certain kind of Providence, in Cassandra’s opinion. The Conclave had failed to bring the mages and Templars together in peace, and despite everything else that had come to light since, the tensions still ran high. The Inquisition was shaping up to be a major power in the world, provided they all survived a final confrontation with Corypheus, it would put a mage on an even playing field with Empresses and Kings, perhaps even the Divine thanks to her reputation as the Herald. And to see her work with a former Templar as a trusted ally? To see the way they cared for each other, not because of what they were, but who they were? 

Cassandra believed it would go a long way when it came to an example of how to foster understanding between the two groups. It all started with two individuals learning to tolerate one another. And in this case at least, to love. 

“After all, even Andraste herself had a husband, for a time.” 

Cullen was suddenly pink all the way to his ears. 

“I… I think I will go see if Leliana has news on when we can expect the soldiers to start arriving” And he promptly excused himself. 

Cassandra hoped his reaction had been for her teasing, not because the story of Andraste’s husband… ended poorly for her. 

She really must need work on her delivery for jests. 

***

Sleeping had not been pleasant in a long time. Not since he was eighteen and his first dose of lyrium. 

Waking up seemed nicer lately. She woke him with soft little touches, kisses, whispered words. No matter how awful the dreams, they faded when he remembered she was there. Arianh’s hand on his face. Palm to cheek, her thumb running across his mouth gently.

“How did this happen?” He knew what she meant at once because her soft strokes kept pausing where the scar ended on his lip. 

“Kirkwall. In the fight with Meredith. She claimed I’d been corrupted.” 

Ironic, really, looking back at it now. He had been lucky. If Hawke hadn’t shouted, he likely would have ended up with a matching eyepatch to Bull rather than a relatively unobtrusive scar. He was doubly so that the wound had never festered now that they truly understood the nature of red lyrium. 

Arianh hummed, her touch lingering for long enough that he started to drift into sleep again. She always told him it made him look rugged, but “in a very attractive manner” and he supposed if she didn’t mind it he didn’t either. Her hand dropped away from his mouth, and Cullen missed the contact immediately. 

“And this one?” Warm fingers returned, this time gently petting a mark just below his shoulder on his arm. 

“Training. The swords weren't edged, but if you swung hard enough they did some damage.” Her hand stayed, but not like it had the first time. 

“This one?” A scar near his hip. Her hand wandered under the blanket to run her finger the length of it. It made him smile. Partially because it sort of tickled, and partially because she was intentionally being a tease and they both knew it. 

“Old. I don’t remember.” 

“Seems like the kind of scar you get from a jilted woman.” Her touch trailed back along the scar. Back and forth, back and forth. It was soothing. He was conscious of the fact the scar was there, but he hardly noticed it anymore. Any of them, really. Except perhaps the one on his face, if only by virtue of the fact it was the newest one. 

The one on his stomach was a longer mark than he had recalled it being, a few inches by her tracing. 

“There aren’t any jilted women in my life.” Cullen chuckled this time. She was watching her finger still running along the scar, her head pillowed on her other hand. “Unless you’re upset with me and just not saying so.” 

“None?” 

“None. Why? Do you think there should be?”

“Hm. As handsome as you are? I bet you broke a lot of hearts.” 

“You flatter me.” He chuckled again, and Arianh scooted a bit closer, her head now resting on his shoulder instead of the pillow. “If I had, no one told me.” 

“Ugh, it’s almost worse that you don’t even realize it,” She grumbled with an almost petulant tone. 

“Realize what?” 

“People swoon.” 

“They do not.” He laughed outright, starting to find the whole conversation a little ridiculous. 

“Oh yes they do. Remember the Winter Palace? Do you have any idea how many marriage proposals you get weekly from Orlais that I set on fire?” 

“You set- you set them on fire?” He felt his eyebrows starting to raise. 

“Well, they were funny at first, but now it’s getting out of hand. So usually after I ask Dorian to drop them from his window in the library. For target practice.” 

“Arianh, my love, I think you might be the jealous type.” Cullen found it utterly impossible to contain his laughter now, only managing to muffle it slightly in one hand, the other curling around her shoulders and holding her tight to his side. He was, genuinely, a little more flattered by the possessive streak than alarmed by it. And wondering how in the world he had managed to miss flaming love letters falling from the library. 

“Jealousy implies they mean something to you.” 

“You know that’s not true.” He squeezed her gently. “For one, you’ve never let me read them so how would I know if I had any better prospects?” 

“Cullen!” The joke earned him a playful slap in the middle of his chest, but she was smiling. 

They so rarely had time for this anymore. The battle with Corypheus loomed closer. Arianh left for the shrine of Mythal tomorrow, and she had so little cause to smile. Even if it had stung, it was worth it. 

These last few quiet little morning moments they tried to keep to themselves as long as possible, before the rest of the keep really started to be active. Mostly just those in charge of breakfast, probably Leliana and Cassandra were awake and moving. 

A few quiet moments just after dawn before titles and duty took them apart for the day. 

Tomorrow they would sleep apart, Cullen making sure everything was prepared for her journey to the shrine and whatever followed, Arianh attempting to get enough sleep to be well-rested. 

So Cullen wanted to make sure that _this_ morning, she was smiling. 

When her slap seemed to do nothing but amuse him, Arianh gave a very exaggerated sigh and an eyeroll, the hand now sliding across his chest to wrap her arm around his middle instead. Her fingers found another knot of scar tissue along his ribs, and began to trace this just like she had the others. That one was from a scuffle with an abomination, a mage who had not passed their Harrowing. 

He had hesitated that time, it had been early in his career. The next time he had not, and perhaps he should have. 

Cullen had been thinking of such things less and less lately. He found himself too preoccupied to dwell much on the past as he once had. As Cassandra had pointed out, it wasn’t as if he could change things now. His choices or his actions. 

It had all led him here, where he truly felt he was meant to be. That was the important part. 

It didn’t seem all that long ago the Inquisition had been a disorganized, shambling little band that had almost been ended at Haven.

He believed in this, them. The future Arianh wanted to build. 

All she had to do was was kill a dragon, kill a giant Darkspawn Magister.

Simple. 

He tried to take heart with the knowledge she at least had an excellent track record when it came to killing dragons. 

Five, at his last count. By this point he was quite certain she was deliberately hunting them, and they were not in fact swooping down at her randomly in her travels as she claimed and leaving her no choice but to fight them. Which, he suspected, she had only said because she knew he worried. 

At least it was good for morale… 

Especially Bull’s. Who somehow always managed to be there for these “random” encounters of hers. 

“You know I would never leave your side, right?” He asked, fingers gently tracing a scar of her own along her jaw. She had gotten it as a child climbing out a window, running away from the Circle. She had fallen and cut herself on the way down, and the Templars had caught her within minutes. It had been a relief when she told him that though they had locked her in her room for a couple days, they had not harshly punished her. He shuddered to think what would have happened to her at Kirkwall for the same offense. “No matter how this plays out, what becomes of us and the Inquisition. I’ll be with you.” 

“I know, love. And I am so, so grateful. I couldn’t do this without you.” She smiled, and it widened when Cullen shifted, moving until he hovered over her, braced on his arms. Arianh hummed up at him curiously. 

“There’s only one person I want to swoon for me,” He told her sternly, all joking now aside. His hand slipped along the open collar of the loose shirt she wore to sleep, traveled along her clavicle until he could feel her heartbeat under his hand. And felt it kick up just a hare at the touch. “Only one heart I want, and I will never break it.” 

_Only one person I want to marry._

The thought lingered, but was left unsaid. Now was not the time, but he knew it in his soul. Cullen could no longer imagine his life without her. He didn’t want to. 

The Maker had to have something to do with them finding each other. Ten years ago, three years ago, he never would have imagined this as the place he would be. And now, he wanted nothing else. 

***

Done. 

It was done. Truly. 

After all this time, Arianh almost felt a bit lost. Her hand ached, burned, but the rest of her felt able to truly relax for the first time since she had woken up in Haven’s dungeons, and the pain was fading fast. 

The Inquisition had won. 

Skyhold. Home. 

_Cullen._

She couldn’t wait to go back. To celebrate. To tell the world what they had accomplished. 

What just hours ago had seemed nigh on impossible. 

Corypheus defeated. The Breach closed. 

Well, maybe telling the world could wait until tomorrow. Tonight was wine, food, friends, and lovers. 

The party marched back with a spring in their collective step that had been sorely lacking for months now. 

Varric hummed a tune that Sera added colorful lyrics to involving where to put arrows, occasionally slapping at Blackwall (it was impossible to know him by any other name now) to try and get him to join in, Cassandra was laughing while Bull recounted a particularly impressive move she had made, his arm thrown around Dorian’s shoulders who looked partially offended at being touched by a large sweaty Qunari and partially pleased to be included, Vivienne, as regal as ever, simply strode along as if she had single-handedly defeated the enemy army, and poor Cole hovered, separate from the group, and Arianh imagined he was looking for Solas. 

Solas who had hung back at the temple. 

Something told her that she would not be seeing him back at Skyhold. 

In a way she understood. The Breach was gone, he had no real obligation to them. But she had believed they were at least friends. 

The party had clearly already started by the time they arrived at the keep. Soldiers, servants, nobles alike already several cups deep of their chosen libations. The cheering multiplied at their arrival, so loud Arianh could feel it vibrating around her chest. 

She shook a few hands as she made her way through the crowd, accepted the words of praise and thanks as gracefully as she could, but her gaze was fixed on him. 

Cullen waiting for her on the steps with Josephine and Leliana, like a moth to a flame she was drawn straight to him. 

She expected a handshake, a touch on the shoulder, something professional and reserved. It pleased her immensely when instead he took the last two strides to her purposefully and embraced her so tightly he lifted her slightly onto her toes. 

“You’re safe.” He breathed the words into her hair, Arianh wrapping her arms just as tightly around him. 

“I’m safe.” 

Somewhere behind her Arianh heard the cheers turn more to hoots, and she realized this was probably the most public display of affection they had ever had. 

“Cullen?” 

“Hm?” He didn’t seem at all interested in letting her go yet, his nose nuzzled against her ear. 

“Does this make us official?” 

“Official,” He agreed, letting her go now only to smile at her. They ascended the rest of the steps together, hands clasped tightly. 

Everything felt as if it was right. 


	5. V. Shepherd of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m bad at ending things.  
> I stopped writing this for a long time and then just... I don’t know, all of as sudden felt the need to complete it, haha

Something wasn’t right. 

_No, nothing is right._ Cullen corrected his thought immediately. Bull, Cassandra, and Varric had all returned. Stumbled through the mirror, eluvian, whatever it was called, disoriented and with minor injuries, but whole. 

As soon as he had seen them off to the nearest healer, he had turned expectantly back to the shimmering glass, waiting for her to step through, tell him that all was well, she had stopped the threat. 

She always did. 

Always. 

The seconds crawled into a minute. The minute crept into two. He was forced to release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

Panic made itself known, prickling the back of his neck, skimming over his skin like the sparks that sometimes lingered in Arianh’s fingertips when she touched him. 

_Arianh._

He had thought it silent until Leliana turned a worried gaze to him. 

_Please no. Please no. Please no._

The time continued to creep forward. Cullen was counting the seconds, but not keeping track. He wasn’t sure how long had passed now. Long enough that he was beginning to feel sick to his stomach, like his chest was caught in a steel trap. 

_Please no, please no, please no. Not her. Anything but her._

It became a mantra. 

He couldn’t remember the words to the Chant. Any words to any Chant. The Maker would have to accept his earnest plea as prayer enough. In all his years, he had considered himself devout. He had never asked the Maker for anything as fervently as he wished this one thing. 

_Please come back._

His fingers felt stiff and clumsy, clammy when they dug her Phylactery from under his coat. Still around his neck, it had scarcely left its place in two years. He had changed the cord twice, and then finally had a chain made. It was cold to his touch, no buzz of magic, none of the warmth he had associated with her. 

“Arianh.” This time he knew he said her name aloud, and it seemed to echo around the silent room, though it was much too small, and his voice was barely a whisper. 

Cruel and impassive, the mirror continued to glimmer silently. Innocently. He had almost thought it beautiful initially, in an uncanny, terrifying way. Now it filled him with utter fury. 

His fingers tightened around the tiny vial of her blood so tightly he feared it would break in his grip, despite his wife’s assurance she had enchanted it. 

His wife. 

Scarcely three days he had been able to call her that. They had yet to even announce it to their friends. 

Why had he waited so long? Why in the Maker’s name had he dragged his feet for _two damn years_? 

Why had he squandered their time? 

And why was he only just now realizing she would have always said yes when he was on the brink of possibly losing her? 

_Go get her._

It seemed like such a simple solution. Cullen had made it all of two steps to the eluvian when Leliana’s hand stopped him, firm on his shoulder. 

Her slender frame had always belied her true strength, and she was using the full force of it now; her face so much brighter in the Divine regalia than it had always been in her spymaster hood. 

“Move.” Cullen would not be denied. Not on this matter. Whatever Arianh was facing behind that mirror, his place was at her side. 

Now more than ever. 

_Please don’t take her. Anything else. Please not Arianh. Please, please, please, please…_

“It’s too dangerous.” Leliana, Divine Victoria, hissed, as if thinking saying so too loudly would set something off. 

“I have to go to her.” Cullen gripped both of her shoulders, he would remove her bodily from his path if necessary. 

Why did she not understand that? Why didn’t she see? 

If Arianh could not come back under her own power, he would simply go get her. Carry her back if need be. 

Whatever it took to bring her back. Have her back in his arms where she belonged. 

Whatever may be on the other side, they would face it together. Nothing could hurt more than standing here doing bloody _nothing_ to save his wife. 

He shoved. Some part of him realized he had just physically accosted the literal Divine, which was surely not going to help answer his prayers, but Leliana caught herself easily. 

“Cullen!” 

His fingers sank into the glass, his hand, up to his wrist. He was instantly dizzy, and the room suddenly felt like it was upside down, like he was being torn in two. It stopped him in his tracks, the mirror let him go no further. 

_No!_

He tried to force it, force his feet to move, but he was lead. Cullen felt sick.

And then abruptly the world righted itself. Wherever his hand was on the other side of the mirror, he could feel her. Warm, slender fingers winding in his, holding tight. 

He knew her touch at once. 

Elation and relief and a lingering fear that he was imagining it made Cullen feel light-headed, but he would not lose focus. He gripped her hand as tightly he dared without fearing hurting her, and pulled. 

He had expected resistance. For the mirror to fight him, the Qunari, whatever was on the other side that she had been fighting alone for countless minutes. Instead, Arianh stumbled from the glass like he had pulled her through a perfectly normal doorway, and he could immediately see how weak she was, it was the last of her strength keeping her upright. 

Cullen sank to his knees, cradled her to his chest, pressed kisses against her temple, unsure if he was laughing or sobbing. 

Nor did he particularly care which it was. 

“Arianh. Thank the Maker…” 

His eyes raked over her, checked for obvious wounds, her face deathly pale. 

“Is she-” Josephine started, then halted abruptly, afraid to ask. To know. 

“She’s alive.” Cullen’s voice sounded breathless. As if he had run a mile to get here. “She’s alive.” 

Even as he said it, he pressed his face to her neck, felt her pulse against his lips, heard her breath in his ear, reassuring himself it was true. His arms were so tight around her he was half-afraid of hurting her. 

Something didn’t feel right. Off. 

He loosened his hold only enough to trail a hand along her cheek, down her side, checking more thoroughly for injuries. 

“Her arm,” Leliana said softly, almost a gasp, at the same moment Cullen’s hand found the tattered coat sleeve. The _empty_ tattered coat sleeve. Dread filled him with its cold ache. 

As gently as he could, one arm still supporting her against his chest, he gingerly lifted what remained of her left arm, the leather of her coat hanging limply, her gauntlet completely gone. 

“Leli-” he need not even finish asking, Leliana dropped to kneel beside them, gently pulling the leather and cloth away from what they both assumed would be a ghastly injury. 

Cullen could see Josephine from the corner of his eye, both her hands pressed tight to her mouth, tears in her eyes. Cole hovered, ghostly behind her, drawn by the pain. The rest he could not see, but he felt the weight of their stares. 

There was no blood. 

There was no wound. Not truly. 

Where her arm ended was certainly scarred, but it was the grayish color of an injury a decade old. Like she had lost everything just below her elbow years ago, rather than moments. 

His fingers gently brushed against the scarred tissue before he thought about it, grotesquely fascinated. Cullen was certainly further from a Templar than he was similar now, after all this time, but nineteen years of training were hard to shake, and he felt the last crackle of unfamiliar magic. 

Strange magic had done this to her. Not the Qunari. 

Who would have done this to her? Who could have? And why? For the Anchor? What purpose could it possibly serve severed from Arianh? 

Frankly, none of these things mattered to Cullen for the moment. Arianh’s well-being took precedence over all else. Once she was safe and recovering, he would deal with the rest. 

He would start by shattering that cursed mirror into a thousand pieces for almost taking her away from him. And he imagined he would be hard-pressed not to kill whoever had done this to her when he tracked them down. 

Cullen gathered her into his arms, unable to repress a shiver at how slack and lifeless she felt, her head lolling against his shoulder, her breathing soft and whispery. 

“Oh, just let me through would you?” 

Dorian was the first who approached, elbowing a stunned Blackwall after the sharp words didn’t work to get passed, hands alight with a healing spell. 

He stayed close at Cullen’s heels as he started off briskly; not that he had no faith in Dorian, but the more healers, the better he would feel. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the entire group flanked him as he marched, and he was glad of it. Not even in Orlais would the most famous members of the Inquisition be stopped and questioned. 

Particularly when he imagined they all looked quite fierce after one of their own, the very core of the organization, had been harmed. 

They had made him wait outside. 

He felt rather indignant about it. Cullen supposed it was because he was, after all, a man and they were trying to preserve Arianh’s honor. No one except Leliana had actually really been allowed into the room. 

Mostly because who really wanted to say no to the Divine? 

It had not seemed like the appropriate time to point out that he had seen Arianh naked more than anyone else in Thedas could possibly claim to. Or that, being her husband, he was technically more entitled than Leliana to be with her. Except for of course the fact that Mother Giselle was the only one who even knew they were married. Well, Mother Giselle and Kaidan, which Arianh had apparently named their Mabari.

Cullen had only been planning to take him back to Skyhold and find someone suitable to take care of him -after all where would he find time to tend to a war hound once he got back to his duties?- but then Arianh had called him Kaidan and suddenly they had adopted him together. She cemented the idea every time she fed him a treat and scratched his ears until his tongue was hanging out and called him ‘Puppy-bear’ and it absolutely melted Cullen’s heart. 

He hadn’t realized he was pacing until he almost ran headlong into Cassandra, a bandage near her hairline, but other than that apparently back to health. 

“The Inquisitor?” 

“I… they haven’t let me see her. Since…” the admission stung. The feeling stung. To have her back only to have her pried out of his hands again so soon… no matter how gently it had been done, he hated it. 

“But she’s alive. That is what matters.” Cassandra said so with so much conviction Cullen could hardly argue. He turned to glance at the door again, longing to see her, even if all he was allowed to do was hover in the corner. 

It would be better than this. 

Tailing Cassandra, he could see all the others they had grown close to over the time of the Inquisition. Even Vivienne looked a little ruffled at all that had happened. 

Cullen felt he should say something. He had no idea what he was supposed to talk about. Words felt useless. 

No one else seemed to have anything to offer. Silently, they waited. 

The door opened with a creak, and there was collective intake of breath. Leliana stepped towards them while healers filtered out in the other direction down the hall. She nodded to Cullen. 

“She’s awake, she asked for you.” 

“Is she…” asking if she was “alright” felt utterly stupid. Clearly she was not. Arianh was missing a hand. 

Leliana filled the space for him. “However it happened… the physical trauma was minimal. It was healed as it… was removed.” She grimaced slightly as she explained. “Solas would be the expert of course, if he were still here, but as far as they can tell, the Anchor is… gone as well.” 

“Gone?” 

“Yes. There is no trace of rift magic in the Inquisitor. Very little magic in her at all at the moment. That will be a… few days of recovery.” 

Relief rushed Cullen. So powerful he almost couldn’t stay standing. While he was sure losing her hand was going to be… challenging, the fact that it had taken that damn mark with it struck him as a blessing. All the pain it had been causing her of late? He had been just as afraid of the Breach’s poison killing her as the Qunari spies and whatever else had been in the eluvian. 

“Go. See her.” Leliana said so sternly, almost an order, and Cullen did not need to be told twice. He felt only a little guilt over not inviting anyone else to visit her with him. 

It was accepted without comment that he would go alone. They were a tight-knit group, after all they had gone through together, but even if no one knew the full extent yet, it was known that his bond with her was something more. 

The infirmary room was dim and stuffy, only a few candles lit now that the mages had finished tending to her. Arianh looked small in the overstuffed, opulent Orlesian bed, propped up on what Cullen would call an excessive amount of pillows. Smaller still for being dressed in one of those flowing semi-transparent linen nightgowns that Arianh would never wear because Skyhold was just too drafty even after the repairs had been complete. 

Since Leliana had met them in the hall, she seemed to have drifted off again, head turned slightly to one side, chest gently rising and falling with her breath. He crept to the side of the bed, knowing sleep was the best thing for her despite the temptation to wake her. 

The quilt was pulled up almost to her chest, hiding where the sleeve of the gown would be laying flat and empty. 

It seemed no one was quite sure how to handle the rather bizarre, magical injury. 

While Cullen had never gotten along particularly well with Solas, he respected him, and wished he was here now. He had always known more about the Anchor. He would have been able to offer… something as far as advice or answers. More than Cullen had at the moment, anyway. 

For now, he was just grateful. Grateful she had survived. 

Arianh’s face scrunched slightly and her face tipped towards him, but her eyes didn’t quite make it open; clearly she was exhausted. 

“Cullen?” 

“I’m here.” He reached under the blankets, taking her remaining hand in both of his. Her fingers felt so cold, so frail. “I’m here.” 

“How bad is it?” 

He was unsure if she meant the current status with the Exalted Council or her hand, but he decided to start with the obvious one, and knew Arianh hated when he tried to sugar-coat something. 

“Your hand is gone. Part of your arm.” 

At first the only indication she gave that she had even heard him was a slight tightening of her grip on his hand. And then, inexplicably, her lip quivered and tears trailed down her ashen cheeks, only just starting to regain any sort of color. 

_Oh Maker._ Maybe that had been too blunt. She had only cried in front of Cullen a handful of times and he was still unsure of how best to comfort her. How to make it better. 

“Ari-”

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes opened now, bright and shimmery. He was stunned. Confused. 

She had nothing to apologize for. She was back. That was all that mattered. 

“What in Andraste’s name for?” 

“My hand. I can’t wear a ring. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to with the Anchor, but now…”

She utterly dissolved into semi-hysteric tears. 

Of all the silly things to worry about in this situation. Such a small thing. It mattered so little, but maybe it was all the more she could deal with at the moment. He felt emotion ball up in his throat, barely able to speak around it, unable to name it. 

“Arianh. Love.” His own voice was watery when he threaded his fingers through her hair, kissed her forehead gently. So much for being strong for her. So much for being the shoulder she could lean on. “Arianh, you can wear it on your other hand. It doesn’t matter. We made our vows, and you came back to me. I don’t care about anything else.” 

They didn’t even have rings yet. He had been planning his proposal for weeks. Months. And of course he had instead managed to blather it out when he was completely unprepared. 

She pulled her hand out of his, only to wrap it around the back of his neck. Cullen sat on the edge of the bed, holding her so close she was almost in his lap, and Arianh buried her head against his shoulder. 

“He did it to save me. It was all an accident. Just a stupid accident…” 

_He? Who did this?_

As much as he wanted to know, tonight he would push Arianh no further. Questions and possibly revenge could wait a few days at least. 

“It’s alright.” He soothed, running his hand along her back. “Everything will be alright.” He had no way of knowing, of course, but he hoped. “Just get some rest. Everything else can wait.” 

Arianh clung to him tightly, but her tears were already starting to quiet.

Cullen only became aware of the fact he had fallen asleep when scratching and whining at the door woke him. Kaidan had apparently sniffed them out like the loyal Mabari he was. 

Groggily he slid to his feet, gently dislodging Arianh’s head from his shoulder, moving quietly to the door. Luckily she slept through Kaidan’s protests at being left outside. He opened the door, and the giant dog patrolled the room before laying his chin on the mattress beside Arianh and whining softly. 

“Hush. Don’t wake her, Kaidan.” The dog rolled big brown eyes in his direction, but quieted obediently. “Good boy.” Cullen scratched behind his ears. 

Clearly just as much her Mabari as his. 

His stomach rumbled, reminding Cullen that he hadn’t eaten in close to two days now. Arianh probably just as long. He patted Kaidan’s head gently and the dog looked up at him expectantly. 

“Stay with her for a little while, alright? I’ll be right back.” 

Immediately he leaped onto the foot of the bed, laying at his Mistress’ feet with sharp eyes and sharp teeth facing the door. 

“Good boy,” Cullen said again, glad for how immediately Arianh had managed to bond with a Mabari, especially when she wasn’t even Ferelden. It made him worry a great deal less to know if he was ever unable to be there, for any reason, Kaidan certainly would be. “Guard.” 

He got a soft huff in response, Kaidan’s ears perked towards the door as Cullen eased out. 

He met Sera in the Tavern, Blackwall not far away. Bull behind the bar. 

It was different, but the three together still felt somehow like home back in Skyhold. They were always in the tavern together there, it only made sense that the three of them would have usurped it here. 

And all three turned to him with expectant looks. 

“Well?” Sera finally asked. 

“Arianh… she’s alright, I think. She will be.” 

“But her arm-” Blackwall started, until Bull’s massive hand settled on his shoulder. 

“Not our business.” He said simply. “What do you need, Boss-man?” 

It almost made Cullen laugh at the title Bull had apparently just made up for him on the spot. Arianh had always been “Boss” to Bull. This was the first time he had called Cullen by anything other than his name, and the fact that it was a derivative of her unofficial title told him the Qunari knew far more than he was letting on, as usual. Might as well have called him ‘Ser Trevelyan’. 

“Food. Whatever you have back there that’s easy.” And could be eaten with one hand. 

“Tevinter. Aggregio Pavali.” Bull sat what looked like a very nice, very old bottle on the bar, and Cullen had to wonder where in the world he had gotten it. Other than Dorian being a direct pipeline to Tevinter Vintners. He rarely drank wine, he had no idea. 

“I don’t know-”

“Trust me. The Boss will need a pick-me up.” Bull pushed the bottle towards him. 

As for food, a fairly straightforward lunch was collected into a bag, plus a few strips of bacon. No doubt Sera’s contribution for Kaidan. 

By the time he returned, he had lost his place in bed to a hundred-and-fifty pound warhound. Kaidan cuddled up to Arianh’s side, her fingers dug slightly into the ruff of fur at the back of his neck. It was so… precious. 

Cullen sat on the foot of the bed, deciding to disturb her as little as possible, and just sort of… processed. He passed Kaidan his bacon, getting a happy snuffle from the Mabari, and tried a few bites of the sandwich Sera had made for him. Though she had never put anything untoward in the food she brought him, Cullen always still checked. If she was ever going to do something like add a few sprinkles of spindleweed for a laugh, it would certainly be when he least expected it. 

“Is that food? I’m starving.” 

He met her tired gaze, and she seemed… better. “Thought you might be. How do you feel?” 

She elbowed herself up to sit against the headboard, glancing at her fluttering, empty sleeve. Cullen steeled himself, unsure of what to expect. He had seen soldiers reacting to lost limbs, and it was never pleasant. Although Arianh’s seemed relatively less traumatic. 

“Uneven,” She said at length. Cullen chewed the inside of his cheek, not sure if he was intended to laugh. “It doesn’t hurt. But it… I feel as if I can still move my fingers. I suppose that’s normal though.” 

“So I hear.” He nodded, unwrapped her food as well and handed it over. “How did it-? I mean, you don’t have to- never mind.” Cullen looked away, fearing he was making it worse by making her dwell. 

Her fingers brushed against his gently when she reached for her sandwich, lingered until he looked at her again. 

“Solas… took my hand.” 

“Solas?” He knew his mouth dropped open for a moment. And then snapped closed when he found himself grinding his teeth in pure, unfettered rage. 

_I’ll kill him._

He had thought him a friend. Trusted him. Cullen regretted every word he had ever shared with the elf. Regretted not watching him as closely as he should have. Like he once would have any apostate mage. 

He had failed her. Failed to protect Arianh from a threat she passed by every damn time she had come to visit him. 

“Cullen. My love.” She had set her food aside, her remaining fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrist, his hand balled into a fist. “Solas did it to save me. The Anchor was going to kill me. It had been killing me. All this time. Spreading.” She released her gentle grip on him to push the sleeve of her nightgown up past her bicep. Besides the initial scar on the stump itself, he could now see smaller, more delicate scars, spiderwebbing up towards her shoulder. The mark had indeed apparently been spreading like a poison. And infection. “It was… all that could be done.” 

“But…”

“I know it looks… bad.” She dropped the sleeve again, looking self-conscious. 

She thought the worst. 

“Arianh.” He moved closer, took her face gently in his hands. “This changes nothing. I told you. All that matters to me is that you came back.” 

For a moment, she seemed surprised, and then she smiled, her hand pressing the back of his, leaning her cheek into his palm. There was a mist in her eyes, but he thought, this time, that it might be relief. 

“I would never leave you.” 

It was a strange feeling. Her life the last few years had utterly revolved around the Inquisition. And now to think it would be ending soon. 

She wondered what she might do the first day she woke up and had to make no decision more serious than what to have for breakfast. 

She glanced sideways at Cullen, who had scarcely left her side for more than a few minutes the last few days. 

She found she rather liked always having him close, always within arms reach. They had finally told their friends of their secret ceremony, and then it had spread like wildfire through the Winter Palace. 

Now there was no reason to hide it. 

Arianh thought it might have been the closest she ever saw Cassandra come to tears. Probably because it was the happy ending she always got in her smutty books and she was overjoyed to see it in real life. 

Maybe, rather than deciding breakfast, she would simply roll over and rest her head on his shoulder and go back to sleep. 

They would go back to Skyhold, for a little while. They were keeping their titles at least until the official dissolution, and then from there… Arianh was not so sure. 

Maybe it didn’t matter. They would be together. 

“I…” Cullen started, and then cleared his throat in that soft, quick way he had always done when he was nervous. “I got you something.” 

She turned to him curiously, unsure what in the world he could be nervous about. 

“I wasn’t sure… I mean I had hoped… uhm…” fidgeting fingers were extracting a sheaf of paper from his pocket, and Cullen seemed determined to look at anything that was not her. 

“Cullen?” 

“I just had hoped that you might like to… uh- here.” His jitters finally winning out, he gave up trying to explain and simply handed the sheet over. Curious and mildly confused, Arianh unfolded it and read through it, entirely unsure what to expect. 

_A deed._

“You… you bought a house?” 

“I- yes. For us.” If possible, he looked more anxious than when he had blurted out his proposal. “I wanted it to be a surprise and so I never asked… it’s in Ferelden, you might have preferred the Free Marches, since that’s your home, I- oof.” His rambling dropped off when she threw her arms around him. 

As best she could anyway. Solas had left her just barely enough of her left arm to properly hug him, but it was close enough. 

“Are you… are you happy?” Cullen ventured. 

“Of course I’m happy. Cullen, it’s perfect. It had never even occurred to me… this is wonderful. You’re wonderful.” 

A soft chuckle issued against her hair, and she felt his arms wrapping around her back. 

“That’s a relief.” He pressed a kiss to the same ear. “My family home is on the way. And I know you’ve met them before, but not since we’ve been married and I wanted to tell them in person, so I thought maybe we could-”

“Of course.” She practically whispered, her voice catching. She had never once in her life imagined it was possible to be this happy. 

Cullen leaned his head against hers, arms tightening slightly. “There’s land, for Kaidan. And uhm… there’s room to… grow. If you… if you wanted.” 

It was the first time he had ever even hinted at wanting children. She had never really considered it herself. She had expected to spend her entire life hidden away in a tower after all. 

But she knew. If ever she started a family of her own, it would be with Cullen. 

“I do. With you.” 

“I… thank you, Arianh. You… you’ve always made me happy. And I want to… I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.” 

“We’ll be happy together.” Another gentle laugh, almost a sigh, and he pressed another kiss to her hair. 

“Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter eggs. Sort of.  
> The title doesn’t match the second half, but I’ve always been stuck on it.  
> And I just sort of assumed wedding rings follow the same rules as modern ones.


End file.
